Beautiful Enemies
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: Two warring families, a royal decree to marry forces Rab Carlyle and Belle Fraser to the altar. But an accident makes Belle reconsider refusing to marry this beast of a Scot. But before vows are spoken, an old flame appears, & jealous of Belle, curses the pair-to be eternally separated-he a wildcat by night, and she a red deer by day. Can this awful curse be broken? Rumbelle AU!
1. By the Queen's Command

**Beautiful Enemies**

 **1**

 **By the Queen's Command**

 _Scottish Highlands, 1565:_

"How many did we lose?" asked Raibeart Carlyle to his head herdsman, Angus.

"Nigh on fifty head, m'lord," the old retainer responded, shaking his grizzled head. "'Twas done when we was all down for the St. Martinmas feast, ye ken. I had Alan an' Alastair, the twins o' Tommy Boyle, out on watch in the field along wi' ma three herd dogs."

"Did anything happen to the lads?" Rab queried, for he knew that reivers were generally not opposed to violence if caught on a raid.

"Somebody knocked the lads oot," Angus answered. The lads in question were thirteen, and nearly men by Highland standards. "They woke up with sore heads but nobbut else, milord."

"And your dogs?"

"Fine too, sir. Though Ginny was limpin' on her off fore, musta gotten stepped on."

Rab breathed a sigh of relief. As the eldest living son of the chieftain, Malcolm Carlyle, it fell to him to police the family lands and herds, as well as maintain law and order amongst his sometimes quarrelsome clansmen. The Carlyles were part of the rich Bruce clan, and owed fealty to the great Earl. He was glad that the reivers hadn't hurt the two lads on watch, which argued for them to be either the Frasers to the west or the MacNaughton's to the east, since both of those families bordered his own and often raided Carlyle cattle. But it was most likely the Frasers, since they had an ongoing feud with the Carlyles.

The young man, he was twenty-seven that spring, brushed a wayward lock of nut-brown hair from his eyes, his hair was getting long and tended to flop over into his face when the wind rustled the heather. He was lean and trim, though not as tall or as bulked up as some of his men. He was of medium height, devilishly quick with a short sword, which was in fact his preferred weapon, that and his bow and his brace of throwing knives. He could weild a claymore, all clansmen could, but he preferred the smaller more maneuverable weapons. Unlike many Scots, he was none too fond of fighting, though when his blood was up he could, as the saying went, lick his weight in wildcats.

As the second son of the powerful Carlyle branch of the Bruces, Rab had been sent away to school at the age of sixteen in Edinburgh. There he had been expected to read the law and come back with enough knowledge in his head so that his father, Malcolm no longer need rely on the cheating barristers to advise him on legal policy as well as crown law. Rab's elder brother, Jamie, was the heir and the warrior in the family. But Rab had wanted more than just to be a lawyer. He also had a fascination with medicine, specifically the treatment of a body through herbs and also surgery when necessary.

Unknown to his father, he had apprenticed to a well respected Moorish physician, Dr. Azhir. The good doctor had taught Rab all that he could of his profession, and the boy proved to be a diligent student. How he ever managed to juggle two types of study and not work himself into a stupor of exhaustion still remained a mystery to this day to his family. His mother, Ceridwen, maintained that God had set his hand upon the boy, and for once had put her foot down and maintained that Malcolm should not forbid Rab to study the healing arts. And whatever she had threatened the chief with worked, for he said not one word of protest.

Of course, Malcolm had not known what respected physician Rab had been studying under, since to most Scotsman and Englishmen, Moors were considered inferior, despite their superior knowledge of astronomy, mathematics, and medicine. Rab was careful to keep that knowledge to himself, for what Malcolm did not know, he could not rail against.

Now the young Highlander looked at his aging herdsman and said, "Send the lads up to the keep when ye got the time, and I'll take a look at them. But I'll also send Dougal, Roddy, Duncan and t'other men to pay back the Fraser reivers tenfold." His dark eyes flashed angrily. Raiding cattle was one thing, it was expected among the clans, but harming the herdboys was quite another. "Ye ken it was the Frasers, aye?"

Angus, who was nearing fifty, nodded. "Aye, sir. 'Twas most likely. Ye know they've allus had it in for us ever since Jenny Carlyle refused to marry Gowan Fraser, the walleyed crazy lad, and left him at the altar to run away wi' Ian MacLeod. They no' have forgotten nor forgiven it, e'en after four generations."

Rab, who was familiar with the history of the feud, as were all the Carlyles, just nodded. "I'll be turnin' out the men and we'll get some o' our own back from those thieves." Then he turned away, his plaid mantle of blue, gold, and green billowing as he walked away and mounted Auriel, his pale gold and cream-maned mare. The name meant "Gold" in Latin, and she was worth her weight in gold, being a desert bred horse, one of the few that Azhir had brought with him to this country that thrived in the rather harsh climate.

Rab threw a leg over the horse's back, the mare was trained to stand ground tied when he tossed the reins on the ground, and he rode with only a plaid blanket and sheepskin pad, with stirrups attached, almost like the ancient Romans. He preferred such a method, since it allowed him to feel the horse as he rode, and be aware of changes in the mare's gait and mood. He was a decent rider, as a boy he had preferred riding to almost any other activity, except reading and fishing the burns.

He clucked to Auriel and the mare shifted from a standstill into a smooth flowing trot, her dished head with the nostrils that drank the wind—as Azhir put it—held high. He cream tail flowed behind her like a banner. "C'mon, lass, let's tell Father what's afoot, and prepare the men."

He was more than certain that Malcolm would order a raiding party, and though Rab would not go with them, he was his father's strategist, and would plan the battle. Malcolm himself would lead his men, as was his right, keeping his heir to home for the nonce. The chief had no wish to risk his eldest on a brief sortie, and lose him as he had lost Jamie in battle eight years before.

Rab sighed thinking of his adored elder brother, the heir whom everyone had loved and admired, the big blond warrior with the glittering green eyes like the Highland hills. Jamie had been well respected and liked by all his kin, and was the apple of his father's eye. Rab, being four years younger, had always known Jamie was his papa's favorite, but that had ceased to sting years ago, because his mother, Ceri, lavished all of the attention and love Malcolm withheld from his "spare" upon her darkhaired bright second son. Sadly though, Ceri had died of a fever before Rab could come home from Edinburgh to see to her his last winter there, and since then, Rab had felt her loss keenly. He knew that among his immediate family, only he and his younger brother, Neal, mourned Ceri like they ought.

Carefree handsome Jamie mourned briefly then went on his way, but then again, he had always been Malcolm's favorite son. It was why, now that he too had joined their mother in heaven, Rab felt he was inadequate to take over the chieftainship, but by the law of the land, the eldest son would inherit his father's lands and title. But Rab knew Malcolm would have preferred his bonny Jamie lived rather than his dark intelligent lad.

Rab pulled up Auriel in the keep bailey, and as he was dismounting, Neal came in from one of the wiers with a string of fish. "Rab, ye're home early," he said upon seeing his brother, whom he worshipped.

"Aye, there's trouble afoot, I must tell Father," he said softly, and gave his brother a playful cuff about the head. "And what are ye doing fishing when ye have lessons wi' Donal Stuart today?"

Neal looked suddenly guilty. "Aww, Rab! I dinna want to sit in school today. 'Twas a verra bonny day out an' the fish were biting good." He showed his brother the string of blue perch he had caught proudly. "See? I got some big ones fer the table this evening. I couldna done that sitting there learning Latin."

Rab sighed, then said in a half-stern tone,"D'ye wanna be an uneducated lout then, Neal Carlyle? "

The boy, he was twelve, pouted slightly. "But Rab, Master Stuart put me t'sleep!"

The barrister shook a finger at the wayward scamp. "Ye're lucky Papa dinna hear you, else he'd be giving you a skelping fer disrespecting yer elders."

Neal paled. "Ye won't tell him, will ye?" He feared more than loved the chief, since Malcolm rarely had anything praiseworthy to say about his youngest, who like Rab took after his mother in looks but was bit more fiery in temperament.

"Nay, little brother." Rab assured him. He had no qualms protecting the boy from his papa's quick fists and leather strap. "But—ye're gonna do declensions for me tonight after supper. Or else I won't take you hawking wi' me tomorrow."

Neal made a face. He detested the Latin all well bred boys were supposed to learn, but he loved being with Rab, so he sighed. "Aye, you've got a deal." He spit in his palm and held out his hand to shake.

Rab followed suit and shook also. "An' remember—"

"No one breaks deals wi' Raibeart Carlyle," Neal recited the familiar litany.

"Aye, or else!" his brother mock-growled. "Now hie yerself t' the kitchen, lad and get those fish cleaned for the table." He gave his brother a gentle swat to hurry him along.

Neal went obediently, the string of perch bouncing up and down. He hated Latin, but Rab was a good teacher, and he learned better from his brother than his boring former friar teacher any day.

Then he handed Auriel's reins to Danny, his groom, and said, "Gi' her a good rubdown and some oats an' bran, aye, lad?"

"Course! I'll take good care o' her," the boy assured him, and led the mare away after Rab had stroked her satin nose.

Rab took the stairs to his papa's study two at a time, not very anxious to give his chief the ill news, but knowing Malcolm needed to know what had happened as soon as possible.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

 _Fraser keep:_

Mirabelle Fraser knelt in the wet straw beside her father Marcus's favorite mare as she struggled to give birth to her tenth foal, but the mare was having trouble this time, since the foal was not turned right, and Belle could see that despite the contractions, the baby was stuck.

"Shh, lass!" she crooned to the laboring mare, a deep liver chestnut called Silk. "Ye are havin' a bit o' trouble. Now lemme see what I can do t'help ye."

Belle was twenty that year, a slight woman with long chestnut hair with auburn highlights, the sort of shade her papa compared to a red doe. Though she was the youngest daughter of wealthy merchant Marcus Fraser, she was as yet unmarried. She was the youngest of four children, her brother Gavin having died in the same battle that had claimed Jamie Carlyle, fighting against the English in a border skirmish. Her older sisters, Mary, named for the queen, and Rosemary, had long since been married off and had husbands and households of their own. Mary had a fine lad, Duncan, who was two and Rose was pregnant with her first bairn. Belle had always been Marcus' fae child, always dreaming and reading, and though she had learned enough to run a household, she wanted more than what was common for a wellbred lady as far as schooling went.

She took extra lessons down in the village with their parish priest, Father MacNab, and learned Latin, French, and English besides her native Gaelic. If that were not odd enough, she also felt called to tend to animals, and used to follow auld Nick, her papa's beast keeper, around and ask him all sorts of questions. She had delivered her first lamb when she was nine, and then followed it by their sow farrowing and finally one of her papa's mares. She had seen cats and dogs get born every spring and summer, and when she didn't have her nose stuck in a book, she was mixing up salves and other medicines for all the animals the Frasers owned, including the cattle.

Belle's mother, Margaret, despaired of her youngest ever becoming a proper lady and considered sending her to a convent, but found that without Belle around, most every animal they owned might have up and died of grief, they were that fond of her fae child. So Belle remained, unmarried way past the time most girls of her class were wed, for Marcus could find no one willing to marry his bookish odd daughter with her ink-stained fingers smelling of horses, hounds, and hawks. She possessed a bright cheerful mein and was quite beautiful, but most suitors were scared off by her forthright manner and fearless way with animals.

Maggie feared her youngest would forever spend her life alone, and prayed daily for God to send her pesky daughter a husband who would be both firm and loving to her.

Meanwhile, Belle cherished her autonomy, and was determined to marry for love or not at all, though she never voiced this secret desire aloud, knowing better. She was profoundly grateful no man had asked her papa for her hand, and prayed that no one would just yet. She had too much to do caring for the livestock to be burdened with a husband and keeping his house and bearing his children. But mayhap someday . . .

The scent of crushed straw and the sweat of the laboring mare drifted to her nostrils as she scrubbed her hands up to the elbow in hot water and a cake of soap, then applied a layer of marigold salve to her hands and prepared to reach in and turn the foal about.

"Aye, lass, t'will be just a moment," she soothed, stroking the horse's flank. Luckily she had tied up the mare's flaxen tail before Silk had gone into labor. Taking a deep breath, she timed the contractions, and then waited until one had passed before she inserted a hand inside the birth canal.

She felt a tiny hoof, bent the wrong way, and she pushed it back towards the head, gritting her teeth when another contraction compressed her arm.

The mare whinnied and Belle hissed, "Wheesht, my bonny lass! I've almost . . . . got . . . it . . ." She pulled the hoof straight, resting it next to the head, then gently guided the foal out as the mare pushed.

"That's my lass . . .once more and . . .there we are!" Belle cried, victorious as the foal slid, wet and gleaming, a fiery chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail, onto the straw.

She quickly tore at the membrane so the foal could breathe, then she wiped him dry with some sacking. "Oh! Silk, ye've got a bonny wee lad! Papa's gonna be so proud! He was hoping for a stud colt this year!"

The foal lifted its tiny head and made a strange whicker.

Belle stepped away then, refraining from stroking the fuzzy coat like she wanted, instead allowing Silk and her new son to sniff each other, the mare to lick the newborn and deliver the afterbirth while the foal waggled large ears and attempted to get to his feet.

Belle rose, brushing straw from her skirt, which was her everyday blue muslin one with the white apron over it, she usually wore when tending to her animals. She stepped outside the stall, leaning on the door and watching the foal and the mare get to know each other.

It was quite late at night, and she knew that if not for her insistence, the head groom, Tom, would have been there delivering the foal instead of herself. But Belle knew that Marcus would have a seizure if anything went wrong with his favorite mare, and so she had made sure to have Neddie wake her up when Silk went into labor.

Despite having assisted and witnessed foals being born before, as well as pigs, sheep, and goats, the miracle she had just witnessed never failed to awe her. It was as if she was the only living human in the world, and felt an almost sacred trust between herself and the horses. It was beautiful and humbling at the same time.

Silk licked her son thoroughly and then began to nudge him to his hooves.

Belle giggled as the foal tried to get up, and ended up with his little front legs splayed out to either side.

He snorted in anger and his whisk broom of a tail went back and forth.

"Ye've got fire in ye, lad. If I had the naming of ye, I'd call ye Bonfire," she declared.

After another titanic struggle, the colt got his feet under him and stood, wavering slightly.

His mother nudged him and he took two step forward and nuzzled her side.

When Belle saw him start to nurse, she crept inside and took out the afterbirth in a pail, then washed up and gave the weary mare some bran mash and water before locking the stall door and leaving the barn for her warm bed.

It was almost four in the morning, and the sun was barely peeking its head about the horizon. Yet it was going to be a beautiful morning.

As she mounted the back stairs of her house to her room, she was glad that her maid Fiona had left her a full pitcher of water to get in a quick wash before she took off her dress and pulled on her nightshirt and fell into an exhausted slumber.

While out on the heather covered meadows, a very different skirmish was taking place.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

 _Carlyle keep:_

The last thing Rab Carlyle expected from his clansmen at the conclusion of the raid on the Fraser cattle was to have a half-dead royal messenger carried to his door. The messenger, a young man in his late teens, had managed to get himself shot by accident when he jumped his horse over the burn separating the two families land in an effort to shave some time off of his journey. He had ended up in the middle of the two warring groups of men and a chance shot by Geordie Fraser's pistol had taken him down.

Rab was just about to take a sip of tea while perusing Neal's Latin declensions in front of the fire in the keep's hall when the doors burst open and he heard his cousin Aiden yell, "Rab! We need ye t' help this laddie b'fore he bleeds t'death!"

The young physician was on his feet and his eyes widened as they carried the limp body of the messenger into the hall. "Who is he? I dinna recognize—"an instant later he gasped upon seeing the royal badge of the Stewart monarchy on the boy's jacket. "Jesu, put him on the table, quick!"

While his men did so, Rab called for basins of hot water from the kitchen, clean cloths, whiskey, and his special salve of honey and marigold. The servants hustled, for the young master rarely raised his voice, but when he did the situation was dire.

Rab grabbed his medical kit from his valet, Murray, and then began washing his hands with the soap and water the servant Elspeth brought him. His cousin Aiden stared. "What be ye doin' that for?"

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness, cousin," he replied shortly. "And surely we need the Lord with us tonight." Actually, his master had observed that less patients died of fevers and the black rot or needed limbs amputated if the wounds were dressed and cleaned and the doctor's hands were also.

Once Rab was sure his hands were clean, he went over and pressed a clean cloth against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. The bullet hole was high in left shoulder, but there was no exit wound. Which meant he had to halt the bleeding quickly and probe the wound for the bullet.

As he exchanged one blood soaked cloth for another, he snapped, "Who bloody shot the royal messenger?"

"T'wasn't one o' us, milord!" cried Duncan. "It was one o' the Frasers. They're the only family hereabouts rich enough t'own a pistol."

Firearms were fairly new to Scotland and only the wealthy possessed enough money to purchase them from overseas.

Rab bit his lip. If he couldn't get the bleeding stopped . . .he pushed down harder and slowly the blood quit pouring from the wound. Sluggish, it oozed now.

Luckily the messenger was unconscious, and didn't feel it when Rab used a probe to locate the bullet, and extract it with deft movements. Rab thanked God, all the angels and his mentor, Azhir, for showing him how to extract arrowheads and bullets on dead animals.

Once the bullet was out, he washed the wound with whiskey, to the dismay of some of his fellow Carlyles, then he smoothed on some salve and began to bandage the wound, knowing not to sew up a puncture wound, as most likely it would fester.

"Someone get me a clean shirt an' put it on him. Then we bring him by the fire an' let him sleep. If we're lucky, he won't develop a fever." Rab said grimly. He didn't want to contemplate what would happen if the messenger died.

He took the messenger's bag and brought it to his father's study, locking it in the trunk there.

Then he mixed up a batch of his sage tea and put it in a pitcher on the table. He gave instructions to Elspeth to give the messenger a cup if he woke and was feverish. "Though if God is willing, ye'll no' need it."

Exhausted to the bone, Rab went upstairs to his room, gently moving aside his cat, Raine, who was napping on his pillow. He barely had time to remove his trews, shirt, and cloak before he tumbled into bed, drawing the blanket about himself and closing his eyes.

 **Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

The injured messenger did develop a fever the next day, but thanks to Rab's tea and giving the lad liquids and broth, managed to prevent the fever from carrying him off. It was a good thing too, for there was no telling what Mary would have done if her royal messenger had been slain on crown business. It turned out that the messenger had been returning to court with a message for the queen from the Earl of Moray.

The lad's name was Andrew, and he was a very distant Stewart cousin. He stayed recuperating for almost a week, sending the message onward with another messenger that Malcolm located, and then as soon as he was well, he quit Carlyle keep for the royal residence.

Despite the fact that the Carlyles had saved his life, Rab was sure they wouldn't get away with what had gone on. They had broken the queen's peace, after all.

They were on tenterhooks for the next fortnight . . .until suddenly another royal herald appeared in the bailey requesting to speak with Malcolm.

The chieftain ushered him up to the study, and shut the door. Neal tried to listen at the keyhole, but Rab caught him and shooed him away.

"Get, lad! Papa catches you spyin' and even I can't save yer sneaky arse!" his brother growled.

"Aww, but I wanna know!" his little brother gazed up at him through his thatch of curly dark hair, like their mama's.

Rab put his hands on his hips and gave Neal the Glower of Doom.

The boy flinched and backed down, for that look was like a dragon breathing fire and Rab had always gotten his small brother to mind when he gave him that Look.

"Aye, I'm goin'," the boy sighed and hurried away.

Rab waited patiently outside the door, knowing that sooner or later Malcolm would call him.

Ten minutes later the messenger exited, going down to the hall to get a bite to eat and drink before going back to deliver Malcolm's reply to the queen.

Uneasy now, the heir to the Carlyle lands waited for Malcolm's summons.

"Rab! Ye lazy layabout, get in here!"

"Aye, Papa," sighed his son and came into the study.

He found his father behind his large oaken desk, resting his hands atop the leather ledgers that he interacted more with than he did Neal. Malcolm was a small man like his son, but had none of Rab's open countenance. He was a man who was handsome yet sly, and liked a game of chance and drink too much. The only reason the keep ran as well as it did was because of the network of servants Ceri had in place before she died, and which Rab took pains to reward for their service. "You want to see me, m'laird?"

Malcolm's mouth twisted as he beheld his heir, and waved around a parchment with the royal seal on it. "Aye. Ye'll have seen good Queen Mary's messenger here. Well, this was what he brought. A royal command for us. Apparently, the queen was quite wroth with the fact that her royal kinsman and messenger was almost killed. In fact we're lucky we aren't all facing the axe now for breakin' the peace an' harmin' her herald."

"But Papa, we didn't! That was the Frasers."

"It dinna matter. The queen doesna care who actually did it," Malcolm snapped. "She wrote here she was tired o' hearin' about her loyal subjects quarrelin' amongst themselves like bairns. So—she says that in order to end the feud—ye must marry."

Rab felt his heart plummet to his shoes. "Marry?" he repeated, dumbstruck.

"Aye an' not just any lass, mind. She wants ye to marry the Fraser's youngest unwed daughter—Mirabelle." Malcolm said bluntly.

"What?" stammered Rab. "But . . .I've heard the girl is . . .not right in the head! Papa, they say she talks to animals."

"Then ye have something in common, for I hear ye talk to that scurvy cat o' yorn!" Malcolm sneered.

Rab blushed. "There must be a mistake, I can't marry a Fraser! We'd kill each other."

Malcolm shoved the missive over the desk. "Read it yerself then, ye looby! 'Tis right there in black and white. _In order to keep the peace, I command that a marriage bring an end to this senseless quarrel, and you, Malcolm Carlyle, shall marry your son Raibeart to Marcus Fraser's daughter Mirabelle."_

Rab stared down at the parchment, wishing his eyes were playing tricks on him. But they weren't. He was expected to marry the daughter of his enemy. He knew quite well he couldn't disobey a royal decree. _Mirabelle,_ he thought inanely. _Her name means a beautiful miracle. But it'll take a miracle for us to survive this marriage._

"Papa, there must be something . . .some loophole . . ." he began desperately.

"There's no' one!" Malcolm growled.

"There has to be one, I'm a lawyer," Rab argued. "I'll find one."

"Ye won't! Ye wanna get us proscribed, ye idiot! Ye'll marry the lass an' hopefully ye can get a brat on her quick. Shouldn't be too hard they say she's a beauty, even if she is odd as a March hare. Besides, all cats are the same in the dark!"

Rab rolled his eyes. His father's crudeness always grated on his nerves. Today was no exception.

"Only if yer a tomcat," he muttered, like his father was. But unlike Malcolm, Rab was more selective when it came to women. And always had been.

As his mind whirled about, trying to process this new information, in the Fraser home, Marcus had just told Belle about the missive as well.

Her jaw dropped. "Marry? A Carlyle! They're known to consort with demons and drink blood! An you want me to marry him!"

"Aye, 'tis a royal command. We've no choice." Marcus frowned.

Belle glared at him stonily. "I'm no' a mare t' be put to a stallion."

"We have no _choice!_ " her papa reiterated. "So best get used t'the idea, Belle. Ye're days o' dispensing cures for beasties and reading are done. Because now ye're gonna be a lady and run the house."

"Papa, I don't know the first thing about running an estate like his."

"Then learn! Gods bones, must I spell eve _rything_ out for you?"

Belle paled. Then she rallied with, "Papa, this is—impossible! I won't marry for anything other than love. You promised that I could choose. No one decides my fate but me!"

"The queen decides!" Marcus bellowed, his white whiskers standing out. "An' ye'll obey, my stubborn lassie. Or else we'll all be outlaws with prices on our heads!"

She bit her lip. How could she bind herself to her hated enemy? A man she had heard practiced the forbidden black arts of surgery, and was lame from running away from a battle? How could she marry a sorcerer and a coward? But how could she refuse a royal command?

"When . . .when must this wedding take place?"

"In a fortnight," replied her father, relieved his stubborn daughter wasn't going to argue with him any longer. "Go talk to your mama, Belle," he said, a trifle gentler than before. "She'll tell ye what ye need to know."

"All right," she acquiesced, her blue eyes, like the loch in summer, downcast. But as she left her father's receiving chamber her mind was busily spinning a way out of the trap that had closed about her.

No wedding could take place if the bride were not there to speak her vows. And if she were clever enough, she would be far away in a fortnight, somewhere no one would ever find her.

 **A/N: Lest there be some confusion about the fact that the men aren't mentioned wearing plaids or kilts, please be aware that kilts didn't come into style until the very end of the century. I have studied this and it has been confirmed by various sources. Hope you all liked this new offering, written for my FB page Rumbellers for the creative Beautiful project. More to come soon . . .!**


	2. The Only Option

**2**

 **The Only Option**

"What d'ye mean ye gotta _marry_ her?" Neal asked Rab over supper in Rab's workroom.

Normally they would have eaten in the hall with the rest of the castle inhabitants, but Rab was so distressed over the queen's command that he opted instead to have food brought to him in his workroom, which was where he mixed and measured and brewed all his tonics, tinctures and potions for wellness. He also had several partial skeletons of animals on the walls to study, since the only way he knew to study anatomy was to use animals, and some animals had very similar structures to humans—such as pigs and dogs and so forth. But the study of the human body was forbidden by the church and Rab knew that to get caught doing so was to risk excommunication and being stripped of his title and lands. There were however, secret texts by the revolutionary doctors in the field that Rab had read while at Edinburgh, his mentor had possessed three and it was a closely guarded secret that Rab would take to his grave.

"What I said, little brother," he repeated with a sigh of exasperation, eating a bowl of beef barley stew with a hunk of bread and some cider to drink. "The queen has commanded me to marry Mirabelle Fraser and so I am going to be married, whether I want to or no."

"Did ye want to marry someone else? Mayhap that girl ye say ye met in Edinburgh?" Neal suggested slyly.

"Zelena? Hell no! She was not my kind of lass, ye ken, and she wanted from me what I did not feel for her—my heart. What there was between us—'twas all on her side, Neal, an' not me after the first kiss or two."

He was speaking of a buxom redheaded girl he had met while at school, the daughter of a local herb woman he had been buying herbs from. The girl wa pretty enough, but she possessed the temper of a shrew and had the voice of termagant, and after going out on one brief night to a dance, Rab had soon seen that she was not for him. She was vain, grasping, and seemed to think of him only in terms of a sex object. He had been unsure if she were a virgin, despite her claims, she seemed to know far too much about the act for an innocent, though Rab didn't like to accuse where there was no foundation. He himself knew the bare minimum, because despite being sent to school when he was just at the age to develop an interest in the opposite sex, he had not been interested in any of the bordellos and tavern tarts his fellow students frequented.

Concerned with contracting some disease that would ruin his chances of ever begetting an heir on the woman he eventually married, he immersed himself in his studies, and since he studied law and medicine had precious time for gaming, drinking, and whoring. And less coin too. He had gone once to some bawdy house, dragged there by his fellow law students, Nick, Albert, and Murray, but while the others happily took their turn with one of the ladies, Rab could not manage any kind of feeling for them except regret that they were doing this for a living, and ended up taking the woman he was supposed to tup into a room, and paying her a silver to act like they had done it, when all he did was talk to her about ways to prevent communicable diseases and pregnancy and tell her stories of his home in the Highlands.

As for Zelena . . .after her first few attempts were rebuffed, he hoped she had gotten the message and took pains to avoid her the next time he sought out herbs from her mother, Cora Miller. But he didn't want to discuss any of that with his impressionable brother.

"Then ye did no' want her for a wife?"

"No . . .even if I were free to pick my own, she'd not be one I chose. She hae not the temperament of a lady." Rab shook his head.

"What about this one? The Fraser lass? What kind o' temperament does she have?"

"I dinna ken, lad. All I know about the Frasers is the stories all the Carlyles do . . .and how some o' the lasses o' that house are odd. 'Tis said she talks to the beasties an' they listen. An' she reads also, an uncommon thing for a lass."

"I read," Neal pointed out. "I've heard she's a witch."

Rab sighed. "Now dinna ye go repeating rumors, Neal. There's no evidence she dabbles in the dark arts an' even tho' she be a Fraser, I willna have her name slandered. Clear?"

"Aye, milord," Neal said gustily. His brother was not like the other men or his father when it came to women. He had an odd code of respect with them, and Neal had never seen Rab get drunk and pursue one of the maids in the hall or the village lasses, the way many of his father's guards and his father himself did. Neal had lost count how many mistresses Malcolm had taken since his own mama had died.

He finished his own bowl of stew, practically licking his fingers afterwards.

Rab saw and said, "Send for Moira and tell her ye need another plate. A boy like ye needs more n'one."

Neal happily rang for Moira, one of the upstairs servants, and she brought him more stew and bread, and some tea for Rab. "So . . .what d'ye think she's like—the Fraser lass?"

"Hopefully like our mother," Rab replied, that being the only woman he had ever truly admired. Ceri had been smart as a whip, able to argue circles around Malcolm, and had run the keep and her household with a velvet glove. In fact, most of the reason it still ran well was due to her instruction and the staff she had put in place, all of whom made sure that even though she was in heaven, the keep still ran as she had intended. She had been compassionate and gentle, but stubborn as a stone when needed, and her loyalty to her family and love for her children absolute.

It was not that she had no faults, often she had lamented about her sharp tongue when it came to dealing with fools and liars—and this included her husband—and her tendency to give more of her attention to her middle and younger son, and not as much to her elder, who had his father's approval, and her rather stern attitude when it came to the cleanliness of her home, her servants, and herself.

But he could still recall her telling him, "Ye must no look at yer flaws only, Rabbie, but also the good things ye do. Ye may no' be the warrior yer brother is, but ye have other skills just as necessary. And God loves all his children the same, be they warriors an' knights or simple spinners and fishermen. Ye remember Jesus disciples were ordinary men, no' kings and nobles, fer a reason. T' show that all men are equal in His eyes, and not a sparrow falls that he doesna weep."

She was the reason, he knew, that his father had allowed him to study medicine, for she had believed in doing what you felt called for, and not just doing something because ten of your ancestors before you had done so. She had given him the courage to keep his convictions and to follow his heart.

"I dinna remember her all that well," Neal admitted, he had been young when she died, barely five. "Just her voice sometimes an' the way she always smelled like heather and vanilla."

"Ye have her eyes, an' her smile, dearie," Rab said fondly.

"Her hair too, aye?" he touched his mop of curly dark hair ruefully.

"Yes. Ye need a trim b'fore ye look like Angus' collie."

Neal rolled his eyes. "I like it this way!"

"Ye like when bugs an' nits get in it?" Rab countered. He pulled a curl. "At least wash it, otherwise I'll have ta shave ye bald."

"No!" the boy yelped, horrified.

"An' when's the last time ye had a bath?"

"Umm . . err . . . when I went fishing. I swam a little in the burn."

"That's no' a real bath. Ye're gonna take one tonight, an' wash yer hair."

"But . . .I dinna . . ."

Rab frowned. "Must I make it a command, lad?"

The boy pouted. "Oh . . .aye! Ye're like a fussy hen, Rab Carlyle!"

The elder Carlyle raised his eyebrow. "Ye compare me to a chicken? Ye insolent imp!" Then he grabbed his brother and began to tickle him unmercifully.

Neal yelped, trying desperately to get away, squirming like a hooked fish, while laughing uncontrollably. " . . .s-stop . . .Rab please . . . I . . .take . . . it back . . ."

"Take what back?" he queried mischievously.

" . . .everything . . .Raab . . ."

Rab's slender strong fingers quit tickling. "Now . . .will ye obey me? Or do we have ta go t' stage two?"

"No! I'll be good!" Neal begged. Stage two was when he used a feather, and it was twice as much "torment".

"Smart lad," Rab grinned, then he released his smaller brother.

Neal composed himself, then said, "When will yer new bride arrive?"

"In a fortnight, I think. So I'll have time t'get things ready, an' Annie, Moira, and Laurel will help me arrange the feast an' the bedroom for her."

"Are ye gonna have yer hair trimmed?" asked the boy, his eyes dancing. "An' make a new yellow shirt n' plaid?"

"Yes, scamp. I want t' make a good impression on my bride."

"Rab? What if she doesna like ye?"

Rab coughed. He had his doubts that the girl would like him at first given that their two families were enemies. "Well . . .there is much between us we must overcome, but . . .I intend to begin as I mean t' go on. An' I hope eventually she'll come t' see the keep an' our family as her home."

"And ye too?"

"And me," he agreed. "Now why don't ye send down for some peach cobbler? I hear Ailsa made it special."

The boy was out the door like an arrow shot from a longbow. Rab watched him go, then he prayed that God would send him a wife he could learn to like and eventually to love, and who would love him in return. Because he would rather not be miserable in his marriage. He also hoped she were not too odd because his people at Carlyle were not always kind to those who were different. They had learned to tolerate him and his idiosyncracies, but a stranger, and a daughter of their hated enemies was quite another story.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle sewed flowers onto her bridal chemise with mindless abandon, not really paying much attention to what she was doing. She couldn't bring herself to care too much about her bridal trousseau, not now, when the choice of the groom was no longer up to her. She had been told all of her life that she would someday marry a proper lord, like her father, and he would be selected with care by her parents and bring honor to her house.

But now . . .now she felt like so much royal chattel, commanded to marry a man she had never met, and worse, a man who was an enemy of her family. A man who, if the rumors were true, dabbled in medicine because he was afraid to fight, and only inherited his title because his elder brother had been killed in that border skirmish that had also claimed her elder brother Gavin. The shared loss should have drawn them closer, she supposed, but the common ground was eclipsed by the gulf between them of a blood feud and the fact that Belle was terrified she would be treated as nothing more than a tournament prize.

As a wife, she knew she would be subject to the rule of her husband, and while she would not have minded had the husband been one of her choosing, this stranger could do whatever he wished to her, and it would be sanctioned by the church and secular law.

She had spoken to her mother, trying to allay her fears, but her mother hadn't been able to do so. Margaret's only advice to her daughter had been to try and be kind to her new husband, in hope that kindness might soften up the man, and she had told her a bit of what to expect on the wedding night, though Belle thought she knew some of what went on from seeing horses, dogs, and cows breeding.

"Come now, Belle, 'tis not the end of the world. Many women do not know their husbands ere the wedding night, but they manage. The bedding is not so bad an' it can be over quickly."

Belle frowned. "How quickly?"

"Um . . .well, it depends on the man. If he's drunk or sober, if he's . . . excited to be with his bride or tired . . ."

"Do most men like it?"

Her mother laughed softly. "Most can't get enough of it. Oh, once or twice there are some that . . . are not interested in women but they are rare and . . . .well . . .I doubt ye'll have to worry about that. I've never heard anything to indicate the Carlyle heir is adverse to women. He went off to Edinburgh, after all, to school, and once you're in the city, they say ye learn more than ye bargain for."

Belle bit her lip wondering if Raibeart had learned more than he had bargained for. And just what had he learned?

"And what else, Mama?"

"Well, when 'tis time for the bedding, the women will bring ye up to yer room, strip, ye, bathe ye, and prepare ye for bed. Ye'll wait for him to come t'ye and then his men will do the same and put him in bed wi' ye, then leave. Then ye may talk or drink some mead and then he'll . . .decide when it's time."

"What . . .will he do?" she queried, her mouth bone dry.

"He'll kiss ye and squeeze ye here and there and then he'll . . ." she licked her lips, clearly as uncomfortable as her daughter about this conversation.

"He'll what?"

"He'll—ride his horse into yer stable!" her mother blurted. "And, God willing, sire a fine son wi' ye!"

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes, the first time usually does. But the pain goes away. And there is ointment you can use to help," Margaret answered. "I can gi' ye some. Although . . .there are three kinds of men in this world, Belle. The first kind is the one that's considerate and gentle in the bedroom, who takes his time an' makes sure his bride is pleasured as well as himself. That kind is easy for ye to grow to love. The other may take his pleasure and not always care t'gi' ye yours, and be gruff and cold, but he can be taught to love. But the last—the last is cold and doesna like it anyway but with pain and fear, and that kind—ye cannot teach anything to, because he's made for pain will never love ye."

"And what—what kind of man do ye think this Carlyle is?"

"We shall pray he is one o' the first two, dearie," Margaret said, and stroked her daughter's hair. "At least ye have inherited my looks an' not yer papa's. Sometimes that can help."

Belle nodded dully thinking that it didn't matter what she looked like if the man she was bound to was a cruel man, as she feared. _I don't want this, Mama! I don't want to marry some stranger who will use me and hurt me and then cast me aside if he sees fit!_

But she said nothing of this to her mother. Best they all thought her resigned to this marriage. All the better when it came time for her to flee.

She had secreted a small bag underneath the straw in one of the unused stalls in the back of the stable, putting it there one morning as she went out to check on Silk and the new foal. There it would remain until she was ready to run.

She had clothing, some toiletries, an extra pair of shoes, a cloak and a small bag of dried foodstuffs. Journey bread, dried beef and fruit, some nuts. She also had a destination in mind. Further down the Fraser land, there was the pastureland for the sheep and cows. There was a small remote crofter's hut and she could stay there for the meantime. It was deserted this time of year and anyone thinking to look for her would assume she had gone off Fraser land, not remained on it.

She would have ample wood for a fire and be able to see anyone coming up to the mountainside croft long before they saw her. It was the perfect plan.

 _No one decides my fate but me!_

Then she felt guilty for betraying everyone like this, but she had no wish to be chained to a beast for the rest of her life, her enemy who see her as a way to punish her for all the sins of her family.

The queen was a woman, and must know what it was like to be given to a man not of her choosing. After all, Mary had been married briefly to the King of France, and that had been arranged. Yet she had married her cousin, Lord Darnley, for love. Belle was sure if asked which she preferred, the queen would have said the second marriage.

 _But I prefer no marriage, or if I must marry, I shall choose my own husband, not be sold to one like a prize broodmare._

Bending her head, her chestnut hair concealing her face, she kept sewing flowers serenely. But in her head she counted hours.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

 _Thirteen days later:_

Belle woke in the early pre-dawn hours and groped about for the clothes she had stashed beneath the mattress. She had a blue work dress borrowed from her maid, Bridie, and sensible stockings and shoes plus a green plaid cape to wrap herself in. It should be enough to get her where she needed to go. After bundling up her hair beneath a cap, such as some servants wore, she slipped out the door in her stocking feet, not wanting to risk waking her maid who slept in the alcove beside the door. She carried her shoes in her hand. In a small pouch at her waist was a Book of Hours, a devotional book given her by her mother on her birthday, and also the current book on animal husbandry she was reading.

Everyone was asleep, except for those on night watch, but the guards were used to her slipping in and out at odd hours due to her animal duties. She passed them calmly, acting as if she had to go and check on an animal in labor. As soon as she was outside she put her shoes on and hurried to the stables.

The warm smell of straw, oats, and horses engulfed her and for a moment she stood still, drinking in the familiar scents and the sounds of the horses sleeping and occasionally snorting or swishing a tail against the side of a stall. She crept over to where she had hidden her bag, and found it easily, even with only the moon though the window above to guide her. She paused again after she had retrieved it, gathering her courage.

 _Are ye sure ye wish to do this, Belle?_ She asked herself.

 _Aye, I'm sure._

She peered into the broodmare stall, where Silk and Bonfire were, and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She would miss tending to the animals, stroking them, feeding them, and watching them grow. She loved many of them like they were kin, but she knew she couldn't linger here. Every moment was a moment more she could use to flee.

Hiking up her bag on her shoulder, she bid a silent farewell to the horses and slipped away into the night.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle had intended to be well up into the foothills by morning light, however she hadn't counted on finding a cow in labor away from the herd and upon discovering it, realized she couldn't leave it alone to deliver, as it was lowing in pain and she feared something was the matter.

Of all the times to come across a cow in labor! She groaned, but her innate sense of responsibility forbade her to leave the poor animal. It might be found later by the herders, but she was here now . . .and even with the urgency of her mission, she halted and knelt beside the cow.

"Hey there, lass. What seems to be the trouble?"

The cow was down on her side, and Belle recalled to watch for her hooves as she felt her over. The calf seemed to be in the right position. Frowning, she palpitated further. Ah! There were twins! And the first calf was not quite right.

"Shhh! Let me see," she crooned. She wished she had hot water, her salve, but she had nothing.

Until she recalled her mother's ointment. She dug through her bag and found it, thinking wryly that surely her lady mother had not intended it for _this_ use. She rubbed it all over her hand then reached into the birth canal.

Her hand encountered the calf's foot, and she straightened it, it had gotten tangled with the back hoof.

This took awhile, since the cow's contractions squeezed her hand unmercifully. Belle found herself panting along with the cow. "Oh Mother Mary have mercy!" she prayed, then she began to help the calf into the right position.

Slowly, the calf emerged, first the head in its birthing sack, and then the feet.

Soon a small heifer lay on the grass.

"Good girl!" Belle praised the mother. "Now once more!" She tore the sack off the heifer and rubbed it with her plaid, tying and cutting the cord.

The little animal opened its eyes and bleated, it was a brown and white shorthorn.

The mother turned and began to lick the baby with her tongue, urging it to get to its feet.

As the heifer tried to find its legs, the cow again labored to give birth to the second calf.

Finally that one was also out and it was a little bull.

"Ah what a fine son and daughter ye have!" Belle said, and she moved to cut the umbilical cord with her sharp knife.

But she was so busy tying the cord and cutting it that she failed to notice the cow's hind hoof jerk as it delivered the afterbirth.

The hoof struck Belle's ankle, hard enough to break it.

A jolt of intense pain shot up her right leg and she fell forward with a cry, the knife tumbling from her hand.

The cow lurched to her feet and began licking the newborn bull, and the little calf stepped on Belle's wrist as it got to its feet.

Belle screamed, for though the calf's hoof wasn't heavy enough to break her wrist, it did leave a spectacular bruise.

The startled cow mooed and nudged her offspring to their feet.

Belle tried to sit up, but the pain in her leg was so great she nearly passed out.

Gritting her teeth, she began to crawl through the grass, trying to get far enough away from the cow to see to her leg.

As she dragged herself through the grass, she cursed her own inattention. Finally, after she was several feet from the new mother and calves, she tried to turn about and see what had happened to her ankle.

But the sudden movement caused red hot agony to shoot up her leg and she cried out before her eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted.

 **Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Rab, Malcolm, Neal, and ten of their household guard rode out from Carlyle keep to the wedding at Fraser castle. They traveled at a steady pace, content to reach their neighbor's home in about forty minutes.

Neal's collie, a white dog called Winter, ran ahead of the horses, his white plumed tail waving.

Neal rode beside Rab, on his black gelding, Dancer, and asked his brother, who was dressed in his wedding finery, a deep blue frock coat over his yellow shirt and Carlyle plaid cloak, and deep black leather boots, "So, do you think your new bride will be pretty?"

"Uh . . .I believe she's known as quite a beauty," he answered, urging his mare, Auriel onward with slight pressure from his knees.

"What does she look like?" asked his brother curiously.

"I believe she has chestnut hair and blue eyes," he answered, trying to recall the description sent to him by Mirabelle's mother.

Suddenly Winter perked up his ears, whined, and began barking.

"What's up with that mangy cur?" demanded Malcolm irritably, he had a sore head from too much ale.

"Winter! Here, laddie!" Neal whistled for his dog.

But the collie took off running through the grass, they were halfway to their destination, on the border between the two estates.

"Winter!" Neal cried in dismay, then heeled his gelding after the dog.

Dog, horse, and boy disappeared over the crest of a hill.

Malcolm scowled. "Fool mongrel! Somebody should put an arrow in its head by now!" He drew rein, signaling the rest of the escort should halt. "If he's not back in five minutes, we go on wi' out him an' he can catch up."

"Papa, I'm sure Neal won't—" Rab began.

"Rab! Come quick!" Neal cried, his voice cracking. "'Tis a girl!"

"A girl?" Rab frowned.

"Hurry! 'Tis a lass lying here an' she's hurt!"

"Oh, God's bones! Cannae ye just tell someone?" groaned Malcolm. "Ye're gonna be late fer yer own wedding!"

"Better late than someone dies because I didna take the time to see to her," Rab argued, his mouth set in a stubborn line. He urged Auriel into a trot and followed where his brother had gone.

He found the boy, the dog, and the strange woman in the middle of a field of Fraser cattle. He drew rein and hopped off of Auriel and knelt beside the injured girl, who lay still as death. His hands felt her neck for a pulse. Finding one, he breathed a sigh of relief. He carefully examined her head for bumps, feeling along her skull. His hands encountered masses of chestnut hair with auburn highlights but no swelling that he could detect. Perhaps she had passed out from pain?

It was then that he saw the way she was lying, and how bent her right leg was. Above her shoe, the leg was starting to swell and he moved to it and felt along the bone.

"Rab? Is she dead?"

"No, lad. She's got a broken ankle though." He quickly examined the rest of her, and saw the bruised swollen wrist as well. "And mayhap a sprained wrist too."

"But what's a woman doing out here?" Neal frowned. He grabbed Winter to stop the dog from washing the comatose woman's face.

"Mayhap she's a pilgrim?" Rab asked, trying to figure that out himself. He noted the girl was quite attractive, with a heart-shaped face and pert lips, her dark lashes swept her face in a black velvet fringe to her pale face.

He put his hands on her heart, feeling the heartbeat for a moment.

"What are ye doin' feelin' her bosom like that?" Neal coughed, his eyes wide.

Rab went red at the implication. "I'm not feeling her . . .well, I am, but . . .'tis not like ye think. I'm checking her heartbeat."

"An' how is it?"

"Good considering she's passed out. The ankle needs to be set. Go find me some splints, Neal. I'll need two straight sticks." Rab ordered.

His brother **cantered** off on Dancer, Winter following.

A rather flustered Rab reminded himself that this was a patient, nothing more, and he had treated some women in Edinburgh.

Though none as bonny as this one.

He huffed at himself and then went to set the ankle, carefully aligning the break as he pulled it straight again. Luckily she remained unconscious throughout the quick yet painful procedure. He removed her shoe and stocking, then walked over to Auriel to get down his medical satchel, which he brought with him everywhere out of habit.

As he was reaching within it for the bandages he always had on hand, Neal returned with the sticks.

Rab took them and splinted the ankle, then wrapped it efficiently in the bandages. He used water from his canteen and a small cloth to bathe the injured wrist, put some marigold ointment on it, and then wrapped it as well.

"Now what do we do with her?" Neal queried.

"We canna leave her here. We need to take her with us. Mayhap the Frasers know who she is." He knelt to search the pouch at her waist, finding two books there. Books? Then obviously this was no peasant girl. He flipped open the cover of the devotional, and saw something written in a graceful hand on the flyleaf.

"My dearest Belle, may you always find comfort and strength in the Lord. Your loving mother, Margaret Fraser," Rab read aloud. The book tumbled from his hand. "God in heaven! 'Tis no shepherd lass! 'Tis my new bride here."

Neal's mouth dropped open.

 **A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Note, the name Raibeart is Robert in Gaelic. I have Belle work with animals because Emilie deRavin is very active with rescue work with animals in real life and I felt it was an appropriate occupation and hobby for her besides being a scholar.**


	3. A Fearful Beginning

**3**

 **A Fearful Beginning**

Belle was awakened by a strange motion. It was almost like she was . . . being rocked back and forth. She opened her eyes and realized she was looking at the cream-colored mane of a horse. A horse? She then felt . . . arms around her, and she jerked her head wildly.

"Relax, dearie," came a soft voice. "You're on my horse. I found ye lying on the ground with yer ankle broken. Did ye fall off yer horse or something?"

"N-No . . .I . . ." she turned and saw a stranger holding her against him, a stranger with brilliant eyes the color of dark chocolate and warm sienna hair that reached to his collar. He was wearing a yellow shirt and the plaid cloak over his shoulder was gold, blue, and green. With a start she recognized the preferred pattern as that of the Carlyles. "Who are ye, sir?"

"Raibeart Carlyle, at yer service," he began.

Just as Malcolm rode up on his big snorting stallion, and cried heartily. "So is the lassie awake yet, Rab? Because she looks like a mighty fine woman, wide hips and a good pair of tits, should provide ye with lots of bairns and then some!" He slapped his thigh and roared with laughter at his wit.

Belle was horrified. She was in the hands of the very man she had been trying so hard to run away from. Being _held_ by him. And this other rude lout had acted like she was some—some broodmare at a horse fair, or a tavern wench! Certain she was going to end up a mere vehicle for making babies and running a house, and dreading that fate more and more, she began to struggle, despite the fact that she had a broken ankle. "No! Let me go!"

"Ah, the lass has fire in her!" Malcolm guffawed. "That'll stand ye in good stead when ye bed her, my lad!"

Rab went hot in shame and then coldly furious. "Papa, quit flapping yer tongue, and show some respect! This is my future bride, not some tart ye found in a tavern! God's blood!" He sought to keep hold of the struggling woman and not hurt her, and control his restive mount, for Auriel danced nervously beneath him. "Easy, lass," he said, trying to soothe both horse and woman. "Mirabelle, please! Stop tryin' to go away, b'fore ye fall an' hurt yerself worse."

But Belle was panicked, and she flung her good leg over the horse's back.

Rab nearly lost his hold on her, and clamped his arm across her breasts and his other on her waist. He halted Auriel, who was tossing her head and whinnying agitatedly, and cried, "Milady, will ye no' stop before ye break that ankle all over again and force me t' set it while ye're awake! Lass, look at me! Listen t' me!"

She began panting like a rabbit in a snare, her panicked attempts to get away thwarted, she started hyperventilating. She didn't even hear what he was saying, her whole being was invaded by the beast known as panic and fear.

"She's a bit o' a spitfire, aye!" Malcolm giggled.

"Papa, shut yer face!" Rab roared at his sire, not caring if it was his laird he was speaking so disrespectfully to at the moment. Then his tone changed to something soft as velvet and smooth as good Scotch whiskey. "Hey, lass. Hey. I want ye to take a deep breath, dearie. Breathe. Just _breathe."_

He held her with one arm, since she had stopped trying to slide down, and gently cupped her face in his free hand, making her look up at him, her frightened eyes reminding him of an indigo dye he had once seen imported from the East, a lovely dark blue with a hint of violet. He winced at the terror in them, and wondered just what she had heard of him to make her try and flee on an injured ankle. "Shh . . .I want ye to listen t' me . . . take a deep breath . . .in through yer nose and out through yer mouth . . .that's right . . .let the air go down . . .now again . . .and again . . ."

He talked her through the attack, feeling her heart racing like a petrified bird's beneath his hand. He barely noticed that his hand was rather inappropriately clutching her breast. Her heart felt as if it was going to jump out of her chest at any moment.

Belle obeyed the soothing commanding voice . . .finally managing to suck enough air into her starved lungs to stop the dark spots from dancing before her eyes. _Jesu and the blessed Mother protect me!_

"Just breathe . . ."

She sucked in a breath, then another, and another . . .until she didn't feel as if she were going to pass out in his arms. As a matter of fact, she noticed his arms were holding her as securely as if she were a babe, yet she didn't feel smothered. His arms weren't as muscular as the guards her father had employed to protect her, yet they were strong enough to keep her on the horse without falling. "I . . . ye . . . aren't . . . what I expected . . ." she stammered.

"And what did ye expect? An ogre that eats people?" he teased. "Mayhap a crude beast like my papa there? Aye, I can tell ye did . . . an' I'm gonna tell ye to disregard anything my papa just said . . . because _he_ ain't marrying ye, _I_ am!"

She began to relax slowly in his arms, the crippling terror draining out of her in dribbles. She could feel the back of her neck sticky with perspiration and beneath her arms as well. She ruefully thought she must smell like a barnyard and her hair was probably a rat's nest. Then she wondered why she even cared what she looked like. She didn't want to marry him, even if he did have the loveliest voice, like crushed velvet and it intoxicated her like the finest amber whiskey. She felt as if she could listen to it all day.

She shifted, trying to fix her leg, and it was then she noticed that his hand—was touching her breast. Going hot, she cried, "My lord! We've hardly met for you to be . . . err . . .so familiar with me!"

But another part of her actually enjoyed the feel of his hand there, and she felt herself go crimson like a sunset. She was no wanton! Yet she felt sensations she never knew existed at his touch.

"What? I . . ." and then he registered the same thing she did. "Forgive me," he murmured. "We may be forced t' marry, but I'm no' a man like my papa." He removed his hand, a bit reluctantly from her midriff and placed it lower down, about her waist. Then he lifted her enough so she could sit on his lap, a more comfortable position for her than sitting half on the saddle. "How's yer ankle?"

It was only then that Belle actually realized that her ankle was throbbing and feeling heavier than usual. "I . . . I must have passed out after the cow kicked me. She was giving birth and I helped her but as I was drying off the second calf she kicked me . . ."

"'Twas probably reflex, dearie. But what were ye doing delivering a cow? Shouldna yer shepherds be doin' such?"

"They would had they been nearby. But they weren't and I was," she said, half-defiantly. Let him take her to task over doing such an unwomanly thing and she would show him the Frasers bred no meek wallflowers.

"Ye're lucky my brother happened to see ye. Or the cows didna step on ye."

She was surprised he made no attempt to scold her for her unwomanly behavior. Her father had often enough. "My leg . . .who set it?"

"Me. They didna tell ye I'm a physician? Because none o' those great gawks would be able to set a breakfast table, much less a wee lass's leg." He snorted, his eyes glaring at his gaping clansmen, all except Neal.

She felt a kind of forbidden thrill run through her as she thought of those graceful yet strong hands on her ankle, touching her and fixing what was broken. "It still hurts, but . . . the pain is bearable."

"I can gi' ye something for the pain once we get to yer home," he assured her.

He clucked to Auriel and they began to walk slowly towards the Fraser keep. Belle found that even though her leg pained her and she was now heading back to the very place she had so diligently tried to escape this morning, in the arms of the man she had vowed to never marry, she felt strangely and pleasantly weary. She unconsciously leaned her head back against Rab's shoulder as they rode, his mare's gaits were so smooth she felt like she was in a cradle, being rocked to sleep.

A part of her was screaming she must have had the wits knocked out of her, to allow her enemy to hold her this way, and bring her back to a wedding she didn't want to participate in. But the other part was saying how very nice it was being held like this. Then she recalled that she was sitting on his lap and blushed an even duskier rose.

The party arrived in the Fraser bailey after an hour had passed, and were greeted by Marcus and his lady Margaret themselves, who had been warned of their approach by their lookouts long before they had gotten to the keep. Shock and gasps of alarm exploded from her parents lips when they caught sight of their daughter being held across the saddle of the slight Highlander on the beautiful cream and gold horse.

"Why, Belle! What in heaven are ye doing with . . .err . . .that man?" Margaret blurted.

"That man will be her husband," blustered Malcolm. "'Tis my heir who has her."

"But what are ye doing with him when ye should be upstairs getting ready?" Marcus asked. Then he caught sight of Belle's ankle. "What happened? If that blackguard harmed ye . . .!" He looked as if he was about to draw his sword.

"My brother dinna hurt her!" Neal spoke up indignantly. "'Twas he who saved her. She was lyin' hurt wi' a broken ankle an' Rab fixed her up. I found her like that, passed out on the field."

"What were ye doin' in the field, Belle?" Margaret frowned, concern for her daughter and exasperation at her waywardness chasing themselves across her face.

Belle sighed, knowing she couldn't tell them the truth, at least not all the truth. "I was delivering a cow, Mama. She had twins and one was turned wrong, so I—"

"God's foot!" groaned her father. He had hoped to keep his daughter's odd behavior a secret until the vows were spoken. "My daughter has a thing fer the beasties, ye ken," he began as an apology.

"Well, then my son and the lass ought to get on all right," Malcolm chuckled. "He treats his beasties like kin, and he's one too."

His men laughed at his wicked wit, and Marcus smiled politely. "Please. Come in and refresh yourselves."

"How did ye hurt yer ankle?" her mother asked.

"The cow kicked me," Belle admitted. "And milord here set it—"

"Rab. Call me Rab."

Margaret eyed him up and down. "Ye don't look like much o' a warrior."

"Mother!" Belle gasped.

"I know how to use a sword, but I prefer healing people to rending them," Rab answered calmly.

"I see. Well, I'll call some servants to help ye with ye're bags and get yer rooms settled. Belle, I'll send Duncan an' Mike t' help ye to yer room."

She bustled off to see to everything, leaving Rab and Belle alone upon the horse.

Rab gently shifted her in his arms, asking softly, "Can ye hold on to my mare while I dismount?"

"Aye." She waited until he had dismounted before sliding down the horse's shoulder. Rab immediately went to hold her up, then she said, "She's verra bonny. Yer horse."

Rab beamed with pride. "Her name is Auriel. It means—"

"Gold in Latin," she said quickly.

"Ye have a fine education," he approved.

"What kind of mare is she?" Belle asked eagerly.

"She's called an Arabian, bred in the deserts o' Arabia. I received her as a gift from my physician mentor before I left Edinburgh. She's wicked fast an' yet has the endurance o' a much larger horse. She's also intelligent an' sweet natured."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Daft bugger! Rab, ye're supposed to compliment a lady on her figure or her eyes or her clothes, not stand there blathering like a half-wit about yer horse!"

Rab flushed at the censorious tone.

Belle found herself longing to put the crass laird in his place, so she turned to him and said, "I've had better conversations with horses than certain people!"

There were titters from the men watching, and one said, "Maybe the lass finds the horse bonnier than Rab, aye?"

"Could be," Malcolm grunted. "God knows he's no' much t' look at."

Rab reddened further at the slur.

Belle was horrified that his father would mock him so in front of his men and her own and was about to refute the statement when Neal spoke up.

"Papa, you're drunk so ye can't see straight."

This brought forth another round of chuckles. Malcolm glared at Neal.

"Hush yer mouth, laddie!"

He aimed a cuff at the boy, which the other ducked.

"Ye'll have t' forgive my father," Rab drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm. "He sometimes hae trouble recalling his manners and controlling his tongue when he's had too much t' drink. Sometimes he doesn't even realize the words that come out o' his mouth."

Malcolm opened his mouth to answer, but was forestalled by some of the Fraser servants coming in to assist Belle into the castle.

One, Donald, a big lad of about twenty, brought her a wooden stick and the other, Michael, an older man, offered his arm or to carry her if she wished.

"No, thank ye, Donald. I think I can make it on my own," she said, determined to do so and not show weakness in front of the carping ape of a Carlyle and his retinue. Well, she amended, they weren't all apes, not the boy Neal or her . . . groom-to-be.

Swallowing, she used the stick, awkwardly and took a step forward, almost hopping. Her servants stayed beside her, and shot glares of animosity towards the Carlyles, which over half of them returned.

Rab watched, wanting to help, but fearing he'd be rebuffed.

Belle took a few more shuffling steps, and he saw how they exhausted her because she wasn't walking with the crutch correctly.

Suddenly Rab approached her, his innate compassion and physician's soul unable to stand by and watch as she struggled, because she could potentially hurt herself further and certainly tire herself out needlessly.

"My lady," he murmured, his voice tinged with concern. "Ye're no' usin' that the right way."

Belle halted, feel frustrated because she could barely walk two feet to the castle doors. She eyed the Carlyle heir with more than a bit of irritation, because once again she had been found wanting—first for admiring hs horse and now because she couldn't walk with a crutch!

"Ye ken a better way, sir?" she queried rather waspishly.

He ignored the tone, most patients tended to get upset when they were uncomfortable or in pain, and needed someone to vent at, and that someone was usually the physician. "Aye. Ye need to put the crutch forward slightly, and then lean the injured side on it. Then ye take a step with the other foot like ye were walking, do no' jump like that, because ye'll exhaust yerself or ye could become off balance and fall. Here, I'll show ye." He gestured for the larger man, Donald, to hold Belle up while he took the crutch and demonstrated for her, so she could see exactly what he did.

"Once I sprained my ankle verra badly," he explained. "And I needed this for over three months till it healed right. That's when I learned to walk wi' this."

Belle watched closely how he maneuvered using the stick, and once she had done so, said, "Thank ye for showing me, doctor. 'Tis not easy tryin' t' walk with one leg."

He handed the stick back to her. "Aye, I ken," he said feelingly. "'Twill take a while for ye to adjust. But—" he wagged a finger at her in caution. "Ye must stay off that leg for at least twelve weeks and then let me check again t' see how it's healing. I shall give ye something for pain as soon as ye get inside and I have water handy to mix it with. It's verra strong an' will probably make ye sleep," he warned. Which was all to the good for sleep mended best of anything.

He wished however that he was home at Carlyle keep, for in his workroom he had something that his Arabic mentor had taught him to use for broken bones, besides giving a patient comfrey and poppy seed extract for pain. It was a solution where you soaked bandages in something he called plaster to stiffen them and when they dried, created a hard shell, almost like armor, for anything they were put around. This "cast" as he called it, would protect the ankle as it healed better than normal splints. But he had nothing like that here, and none of the ingredients to make more, so he would make do with what he did have.

Perhaps, he thought, maybe it was better to wait before casting the ankle, since he had observed that a patient's leg or foot often swelled up initially and if the swelling subsided later, as it often did, the cast might be too loose.

"I will," she said tightly, lines of stress and pain about her face as her ankle suddenly started throbbing with a vengeance.

They came to the stairs, and rather than have her attempt them, Rab said to Donald, "Carry yer mistress inside and to her chamber. And have someone bring some water to wash with, soap, clean cloths, and some large pillows. Also a half a glass of cider and some pure water to drink. I need to mix a pain tonic."

"Aye, milord," Donald said, responding to the tone of quiet command, and he gently picked Belle up and cradled her like a child, after giving the crutch to Rab.

They entered the keep, walked through a portion of the small entry hall and then up a staircase to the rooms above. Family crests hadn't yet come totally into vogue in Scotland, but the Frasers did have a banner with their lord's colors on it hanging on the wall and also their badge of yew accompanied by the Scottish thistle. Underneath the badge were the words, "All my hope is in God."

When they reached her chamber, her old nursemaid, Brianna Potts was there as well as Margery and Alanna, her two undermaids. "Och, lamb, what hae ye gotten up to now?" the older woman exclaimed as she was carried inside. "Put her down on the bed, and mind ye don't drop her!" she ordered Donald.

"Aye, Missus Potts," the boy said, with a slight tone of fear, for Missus Potts could wield a wooden ruler with the best schoolmaster, and many a naughty thieving scamp had felt the sting of it if she caught them snitching something. He set Belle gently on her bed.

In a trice her maids descended upon her like a trio of well-meaning clucking hens, stripping off her gown, bathing her face and hands and Missus Potts tisked over her hair and then gently brushed it out and rebraided it.

By the time they were done, Belle was ready to kick something, she was irritable, hungry and her leg hurt.

In the fifteen minutes it had taken to help his bride-to-be, Rab had prepared the tisane from his medical satchel's ingredients in the corner of the room by the washbasin, his back turned to what was going on by the bed. Lady Margaret appeared and queried about what he was doing, and Rab explained about the properties of the comfrey mixed with the cider and the crushed poppy seeds mixed in a tea with honey for pain.

"I would also suggest ye bring her something to eat, since sometimes the tinctures I use can be upsetting to an empty stomach."

"Is bread, cheese, and fruit all right?" Margaret asked fretfully.

"Yes, and to that I'd add an egg soft boiled," the doctor replied.

Margaret sent one of the maids down to fetch Belle the food Rab had ordered, then she waited until Missus Potts and Alanna were finished before she approached the bed where her daughter was lying, her injured ankle propped up on three pillows.

"How do ye feel now?"

"Like I've been run over," Belle admitted honestly. "Where is that doctor got to? He may talk sweeter than honey but I swear he's slower than God's own slug!" she growled, since now both her wrist and ankle were setting up a chorus of painful throbbing.

"Belle! 'Tis yer husband yer speakin' so poorly about," Margaret chided.

"I've heard worse, madam. From patients and my own kin," Rab chuckled. He carried his medicines to the bed and set them on the small nightstand where a book rested. Then he looked down at his betrothed, noting that she had cleaned up very well, and now he could appreciate her lovely features when they weren't smeared by grass and dirt. "I'll gi' ye the potions in a minute, but first I'd like ye t'eat something. 'Twill make the potions less hard on yer stomach did ye have something in it first."

Now Belle felt like a guilty schoolgirl, and she said contritely, "I'm sorry. I'm just not used to . . .this type of pain. I've never been injured this badly before and I'm not handling it well."

But Rab did not chide her, instead saying, "No one handles being injured like this well, lass. Why grown men have cursed me out to my dyin' day if I didna imitate Jesus himself and heal them quicker than blinking." He gave her a wry look—rather like a mischievous grin.

"I'd no expect _that_." Belle said with some disgust.

"Then ye are brighter than many a man I have tended," Rab told her, then turned as Margery entered the room with the tray of food.

"I brung ye enough fer two, in case milord doctor was hungry also," she said shyly, and bobbed them a curtsey after she had put the tray on the table.

"Thank ye, lass," Rab called after her as she scurried from the room.

He pulled up a stool and helped her balance the tray across her lap and they both ate from it. There were new summer fruits, plums and pears, a wedge of yellow cheese, and some freshly baked bread with butter and honey. There were also two eggs in egg cups with spoons. The eggs had been sprinkled with salt.

This was accompanied by some ale in a pitcher, but Rab cautioned her to forgo it and drink the cider instead. "Some o' my herbs doona go well with alcohol, ye ken. So 'tis best to avoid it."

He, however, had a small glass with his meal.

Margaret, relieved that they seemed inclined to talk and Belle was not going to throw a book at him and order him away, and she had seen herself that the herbal tonic was not poisoned, decided to leave and have Missus Potts look in on them every once in awhile.

Belle ate hungrily, finding she was starving, and inbetween bites, Rab allowed her to swallow his two potions. She found that both were not bad, and asked what was in them.

He readily told her, explaining what the herbs did.

"Then ye doona believe in bleeding a patient? Or mixing up potions with mare's piss and cow dung and crushed pig's intestine?"

Her betrothed looked utterly revolted. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, no! That is disgusting, and a practice of shills and fake hedge witch doctors, not true medical practitioners. That's more likely t' kill ye than cure ye. As fer bleeding, there's a debate goin' on as to the efficacy of it along wi' the humors . . .and my mentor was one who didna believe it was necessary except in an extreme case. For a fever he advocated rubbing a patient down with vinegar and cool water and giving cool liquids an' tincture o' willowbark and sage tea. And plenty o' hearty broth and bread and fruit. I hae used that method many times an' the patient has always recovered."

"It . . .never made sense t' me why ye should bleed a patient," Belle admitted. "Since blood is life an' when a person's bleeding ye stop it from happening. So why bleed a patient who is sick? Wouldna it make him weaker?"

Rab nodded. "Ye are smart, Mirabelle. 'Tis what I hae observed too an' my mentor Dr. Azhir."

"Please, call me Belle," she requested. "Mirabelle was my grandma's name an' I always look for her when someone calls me that."

"Does she live wi' ye?" was his next question.

"No. She passed on some years ago." Belle said. She still missed her grandmother, who though she had been old, had been very astute and had encouraged her granddaughter to use her mind and to help animals.

"I'm sorry," Rab said automatically.

"She was verra old, almost ninety," Belle told him. "It was time for God to call her home. But the keep hasna been the same wi'out her."

"Aye, I know the feeling. 'Twas the same wi' my mama when she passed." Rab said sympathetically. "My papa . . .hasna been the same since. When my mama was alive . . .he kept his drinkin' and his smokin' an' gamblin' to a minimum, b'cause that was how she wished it an' in his own way he loved her. But once she was no longer there . . .he does all o' it an' more."

"Do ye think it's 'cause he's grievin' her?"

"After so many years, I think it's bein' a contrary stubborn noddlehead!" Rab snorted. "He's like a lad newly released from lessons fer the summer, full of spit an' wind an' rarin' to do whatever mischief his head can think up. I thought eventually he'd settle down, but he's been doin' this for nigh on seven years now."

Belle blinked. It sounded like the laird had problems and she was none too pleased to have a drunken gambler for a father-in-law. But there was little she could do about it. She finished her egg, fruit, and some cheese, then drank some more of the tea and ate the bread.

Observing, Rab informed her, "Ye should feel the effects o' that tea in a short while, about half an hour or so. Mebbe a little more since ye've eaten." He finished his own meal and sipped at his ale. Seeing she was still uneasy, and seeking to put her at ease, he said, "I dinna drink much. No' like my papa. A doctor an' a lawyer such as I cannae afford such. We need to be clearheaded and have steady hands."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said sincerely. "I . . .confess I dinna know much about ye or yer family except . . .except what I heard growin' up about the Carlyles."

"I can guess what ye heard from yer reaction when ye woke on my horse. Ye though we were all beasts from hell who drank the blood o' babes an' ate raw meat and looted n' pillaged an' raided all day got drunk all night and beat our women. Aye?"

Belle nodded. "When ye put it like that—it does sound rather—crazy but . . .when ye've been told that yer whole life, and ne'er met a Carlyle who dinna have killin' on his mind . . ."

"'Tis hard to see the good in anyone," Rab finished. "We heard much the same about ye Frasers. That ye were cowards an' thieves who stole our land an' ye were witches an' in league wi' Satan. They tol'd me ye were an odd lass, not quite like th' rest o' them-ye read an' talked t' the beasties an' preferred animals over people."

"An' they tol' me ye were a coward who became a doctor cause ye were afraid t' fight an' ye drank blood at the full moon an' were as dark as they came," she retorted.

He put his chin in his hand and gazed at her earnestly. "An' now? Now what d'ye think?"

She pondered for a moment. Everything he had done since she had met him had been with gentleness and consideration for her. He had set her ankle, calmed her from her panic attack, yelled at his papa for her, and treated her like a gentleman. She had seen for herself he was a good rider and intelligent, certainly more intelligent than many of the suitors her father had introduced her to these past years. And he didn't drink, and she doubted if he worshipped devils, danced naked in the moonlight, and beat little children for fun.

"I think ye are, after all, a gentleman," she replied. "And ye seem a good doctor also."

He dipped his head. "Thank ye for yer honesty. And I think it matter no' to me if ye talk to animals an' tend t' them. God has given ye a gift, like He has me wi' my medicine, an' the gift t' heal is naught to be ashamed of. An' I like t'read also an' I talk t' my cat, Raine, sometimes because the cat is smarter than half the people I know."

"Ye like animals then?" she spoke before she thought, then she could have bitten her tongue because now she sounded like a dolt. "Well, that's a silly question o' course ye do. Ye have that fine bonny mare an' a cat too. D'ye have dogs?"

"I did. But my Bruce died a year ago an' I havena found another dog as good as he was. Bruce was a collie, a fine lad, though a scamp sometimes. He used t' chew my boots, actually everyone's boots, an' my papa would threaten to put a hole in his head but he never did. He died when a rogue sheep kicked him in the head."

"Oh! Oh Rab, I'm so sorry!" Belle had tears in her eyes.

"So was I, but . . . God must hae wanted him," Rab said sadly. "An' why not, seein' as he was a great sheepdog." He didn't tell her he had given the dog a burial and put a cross on his grave. Malcolm had called him a fool for grieving like he would over a son, but then Malcolm had never understood how Rab had loved the dog like a child.

"I'm sure he's happy now wi' the other animals in heaven," Belle agreed, whispering because one of the church tenets was that animals had no souls, and therefore could not go to heaven. She gazed at him defiantly. "I believe that animals go to heaven too."

"Aye, as do I. I see no reason why they shouldna. Most animals are better friends than people. At least they doona betray ye an' one day say they love ye an' the next slip a knife in yer back."

Her eyes grew wide. "Ye mean that? Truly?"

"Aye. I dinna say what I dinna mean," he said. Then he asked, "Do ye have a favorite pet?"

Belle chuckled. "I have many animals that I care for . . .but my one dog passed away two years ago, she was a very old hound named Clarion, because you could hear her bay for miles around. I had her since I was a child, and since then I haven't gotten another one, I've been so busy looking after all the keep's animals. I also had a bird, a yellow finch I tamed, called Sunny, but he died also, they don't live very long in captivity."

Rab was silent for a moment, then he said, "T'would seem we have more in common than we thought. Would it ease yer mind if I told ye that at Carlyle castle, ye'd be allowed to nurse whatever animal ye saw fit . . .and keep whichever one ye took a liking to?"

"Are ye tryin' to bribe me, Dr. Carlyle?" she queried impishly.

"Bribe? No. Make ye more eager t' come home wi' me, aye. I ken this was what neither of us wanted, Belle. I never expected t' marry at the queen's command. I thought I'd have time t' pick an' choose a wife." He spread his hands. "But . . . that was no' to be. So . . .we are here, an' we must make the best o' the hand we're dealt. Now . . . I've been thinkin'," he countenance took on a sudden slyness. "The queen commands we marry, but she didna say when. So . . .what if we agree to handfast ourselves first?"

Belle had never thought of that before. Handfasting was an old accepted custom in Scotland. It basically bound a couple almost legally for a year and a day. It was like a trial marriage, to see if they would suit each other. If, at the end of the year of living together, the couple determined they did not suit, they were free to separate and live their own lives, and if a child came of the union, there was no shame in it, and the father assumed responsibility for his son or daughter.

"But . . .handfasting is for a year and a day, to see if we'd suit each other. And whether we will or no', we must marry."

"Aye. But . . .'twill gi' both of us time to get to ken each other. I willna marry an unwilling bride. That is no' how I wish to begin a life together, Belle. An' perhaps, by the time the year is up, ye will see who I really am. Besides, yer leg needs t' mend and so does yer wrist. The handfasting will gi' us time to heal and to learn t' live wi' each other. What do ye think?"

"I think . . . it's a grand idea," Belle exclaimed, thinking that at least with her leg injured she need not worry about consummating the marriage just yet, and if she looked at the handfasting as a kind of courtship, she felt that she would be able to get past the fact that the man was an enemy she had been brought up to despise. "But . . . will we be able t' convince our parents o' that? And what about Queen Mary?"

"I shall hae t' write a letter to the queen. But I think as long as we're handfasted, then the peace will be kept an' she'll be satisfied. As for our parents—Belle?" he called, for suddenly she had fallen asleep. "Finally, the poppy tea worked," he sighed in relief. "I'll speak to our parents, dearie. I'll make sure there's no problem."

He rose, after gently tucking the blankets about her sleeping form, and was prepared to request an audience with Marcus Fraser and his father, when a young servant girl rushed up to him as he was crossing the hall. Malcolm and Marcus were at the high table, drinking and talking.

"Oh! Milord Rab! Ye must come quickly. 'Tis yer brother, Neal is it?"

"What's happened?" Rab demanded, alarmed. "Is he hurt?"

"Please, ye must stop them," she pleaded.

"Stop who?"

"Yer brother an' my cousin Alasdair are fightin' in the stableyard. Yer brother, he took exception t' my cousin callin' ye a dark warlock an' . . .please!" She begged, taking his hand. "I tried t' stop them but . . ."

Rab muttered a curse in his head then followed the desperate young maid, who seemed to be around fourteen, out to the stableyard.

Before he even got there he could hear Winter barking excitedly, and when he came into sight of the two boys, saw that Neal had a redhaired lad of about his age on the ground and was drawing back a fist, his dark eyes snapping with temper, yelling, "Ye take that back, ye cowardly dog! Nobody calls my brother a dark warlock devil worshipper n' gets away wi' it!"

 **A/N: Glad you all like this and hope you enjoy what went on here. What do you think will happen next**?

 **Historical note: At this time the clans didn't have registered clan plaids or wear the belted plaid kilt but they did have colors and patterns they preferred and one clan would recognize over another. They also didn't have a clan heraldic standard yet, but I do have them have a motto and a badge, since I think those things might have predated the others. Also, the first Arabic doctor invented plaster bandages in or around 1000 AD, though the date is flexible and the idea didn't take root in Western medicine till much much later, but I have Rab using them because his mentor was Arabic and would have taught him the practice. The herbal preperations are actual ones that herbal doctors, especially in the Eastern traditions used and still use today.**


	4. How to Save A Life

**3**

 **How to Save a Life**

Rab caught Neal's fist just before his brother let it fly into the other boy's face again. From the looks of things, he had already slammed the other lad a good one on the cheekbone, as there was a bruise starting. "Neal Tristan Carlyle, stop this brawlin' this instant!" he ordered in his best chieftain's tone, grabbing his brother by the back of the collar and hauling him off Alasdair. "Enough, laddie!"

"But—but _Rab!_ " protested the boy, trying to free himself from the other's hold. "He called ye a black warlock an' a devil worshipper!"

"That's no' excuse for jumpin' him an' poundin' his face in," Rab argued softly, his eyes snapping. "Ye know yer supposed t' be on yer best behavior. Papa would thrash ye till y couldna sit for a week did he know what ye were about." He fastened one of his patented Looks on the fiery boy. "I'm tempted t' wallop ye a few myself."

Neal hung his head, but then he muttered, "Ye ain't walloped me since I was six, Rab."

"That dinna mean I canna, an' well ye know it, ye saucy imp. Look at ye! Yer good tunic all dusty an' ye look like something the cat dragged in. Scapegrace!" he scolded, his tone low and angry.

Neal had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry. But he was mockin' ye an' our family honor."

Rab sighed. "Our honor's not worth startin' another feud over, little brother." He released Neal, and brushed him off with a few rather rough swipes, then went over to the other lad, who was still sitting woozily in the dust, his cousin querying if he were allright.

"Ruby, m'fine, dinna fash yerself!" Alasdair muttered, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the blood trickling from his nose.

"Ye dinna look fine!" she retorted. "Ye look like a mucky Monday wash, aye? An' Granny'll take one look at ye an' take a switch t'ye for startin' with the Carlyle's son." She shook her head. "When will ye learn t'hold yer tongue?"

"Aww, hush!" the other grunted.

"Let me see yer face, lad," Rab ordered, dampening his handkerchief at the water pump and walking over to the pair. He knelt and took the boy's face and turned it so he could see where the blood was coming from. "Looks like my brother clonked ye on the nose."

"'Tisn't nothin'," the child protested, then winced as Rab laid the wet handkerchief on his nose. "Hold that there tight and tilt yer head back," he ordered, then he went and opened his medical satchel and wet another cloth and handed it to Neal. "Clean yerself up, lad." He watched to see if his brother was obeying before he wet a third cloth and went back to Alasdair and gently wiped the dirt from the other's face while he held the cloth to his nose. Then he went and dabbed on some arnica balm from his satchel, saying, "This will clear up that bruise ye have in no time. I'm a doctor, lad, no' a warlock, ye ken?" As if to prove his point, he recited the Our Father in Latin and then Hail Mary for good measure.

Alasdair's eyes widened.

"Now . . .if I were in league wi' Satan, I'd never be able to get those words out wi'out catching on fire. But—as ye see, I'm still here," Rab lectured calmly. "So . . .I'll have no more silly accusations from ye, clear?"

The redhaired boy swallowed hard. "Aye, milord."

"Good." He beckoned to Neal. "Ye apologize and shake hands now." He waited until the boys had done so, then added, "An' no more fightin' else next time I'll no' be so lenient wi' ye."

He helped the other boy to his feet and said, "If I were ye, I'd change yer tunic an' brush the dust off yer breeches so yer granny doesna guess wat ye were really up to." He had Alasadair remove the cloth and examined his nose, saying, "'Twill be a wee bit sore for a day, but nothing's broken an' ye should be fine by tomorrow."

"Thank ye, milord," Ruby bobbed him a curtsey and Alasdair bowed before he hurried off to do as Rab had said.

Then he turned to his brother and sighed. "Neal, ye really must learn t'control yer temper."

"I hear ye, Rab. I just . . .dinna like when people talk bad about ye." Neal huffed. "'Specially no account servant lads."

"Neal, people will talk, an' repeat rumors n' such, an' ye must not let it get 'ye. I know I am no devil worshipper an' so d'ye, so ye ought to ignore such ignorant prattle."

"I ken, but . . .'tis hard," his brother admitted.

"Aye, but try, Neal. For me."Rab urged. His brother's flashfire temper concerned him, because it reminded him too much of their father's own, which was always worse after a night of drinking and gaming.

"All right." The boy agreed. Then he asked softly, "Ye will no' tell Papa what happened, will ye?"

"Nay, lad. I took care o' it, so there's no need t' involve him. But mind ye behave, or else!" He warned, and shook his finger at the boy. "Now, go into the keep an' get changed an' take a bath for supper. I need to speak to Papa about my upcoming nuptials."

"Will ye no' marry her now? On account she's hurt?" asked Neal curiously.

"Of course I shall, lad. 'Tis no matter if she's got a broken ankle. I just need t' hammer out some details. Now off wi' ye!" He gave his brother a smart swat on the rump to get him moving.

Neal went, and once he was out of sight, surreptitiously rubbed his stinging behind, thinking his brother might not have the Carlyle temper but he could have a firm hand when necessary.

Rab returned to the hall, and sought out his father and Marcus Fraser, before his papa got too drunk or involved in a card or dice game. Clearing his throat, he broke into the two men's conversation about hunting. "Excuse me, milords, but I wish to discuss the terms of this marriage. In private if ye would."

The two looked at him, then Marcus nodded and said, "Aye, 'tis time we discussed Belle's dowry an' so forth. Come wi' me to my study."

He led the two Carlyles up the stairs and into a room with red drapes and lit by a fire and several large candelabras. He sat down at his oak desk and gestured for the two men to pull up chairs. He made sure the door was shut, though he knew what was discussed here would probably be nosed about the keep before the fall of dark, the servants being the inveterate gossips that they were.

A large Turkish carpet graced the flagstones and a tapestry of a hunt hung on the wall beside a bookshelf filled with many volumes.

An antlered red stag head also hung on the wall, as well as a stuffed pheasant and a wolf head.

Rab, who didn't enjoy hunting for sport, only for food, looked away and focused upon the books instead, wondering what the shelves contained. The fire crackled and snapped in the grate.

Marcus pulled out a document from the sheaf of papers upon the desk and also a fresh gray goose quill and a pot of ink. "Now, as ye well know, Mirabelle is my sole heir to all my holdings, this castle, an' all my worldly goods once my wife and I pass to Glory." He crossed himself. "They in turn will belong to ye, Raibeart, once ye marry. However, there be one stipulation I must make, in order for ye to retain possession of these lands, I would have ye agree, with yer father as witness, to always treat my daughter kindly, like a lady which she is, and be faithful unto her."

Before Rab could reply, Malcolm butted in. "Now wait a minute, man! My son will always treat his wife kindly, but t'other, a man has needs, ye ken, 'specially when his wife's ailing or—or bearin'—" Clearly he saw the second stipulation as unreasonable, and given how he was, with a roving eye and hands, he would protest it.

But Rab held up a hand. "Wheesht, Papa! 'Tis no' an unreasonable demand, an' one that I shall hae no trouble agreeing to, or keeping." He looked at Marcus earnestly. "By now I hope ye hae realized, milaird, that I am no' the sort of man to treat women like a possession. I like a lass who speaks her mind and thinks for herself, for such a one can be trusted to hae the good o' her people at heart, an' run Carlyle well. My mother was such a one." He slanted a glance at Malcolm. "I dinna believe in dominating my wife either, a marriage for me is a partnership, and sacred before God. I am also no' a man to take mistresses, even if—may God forbid—my wife has died. So yer stipulation I agree to in all ways."

Malcolm grumbled and Rab frowned and kicked his boot, glaring at him. Honestly, sometimes he felt as if he were the parent and his papa the child!

Marcus, however, looked relieved. "I ken ye seemed a gentleman, fer all yer a Carlyle," he said by way of approval.

Malcolm bristled. "What is that supposed t'mean? Are ye saying we Carlyles are no' men of honor?"

"Not from the way ye raided my cattle an' yer other thievin' ways these past years," Marcus snapped.

""Tis a fine thing t' talk o' thievin' when _ye_ made off wi' at least a hundred head o' my stock!" Malcolm snarled.

Before the two could get started quarreling again about old grievances, and perhaps come to blows, Rab intervened. "Papa! Laird Fraser! D'ye remember why we are here? 'Tis no' to start the feud all over again, but t' end it!" he said exasperatedly. "And that will never happen if ye two keep the feud going wi' yer tempers an' yer list o' grievances like two lads brangling o'er who did what to whom. Am I the only one in this keep t' show any sense an' keep the Queen's peace?"

Abruptly the two men quit glowering at each other like two dogs and relaxed in their chairs, his words penetrating their brains. Marcus coughed and looked away, irritated that he had been taken to task in his own keep, but unable to refute his future son-in-law's words. Malcolm shuffled his feet like a little lad and looked ashamed.

"My son is right," he admitted. "He dinna let the past cloud his thinking."

"Aye," Marcus agreed reluctantly. "An' my lass woulda told me the same. Perhaps . . .perhaps there is hope yet for peace between our two families."

"There is—if ye are willing t' let the past go," Rab said quietly. "Both o' our families have done the other wrong, but if ye keep makin' a tally sheet of all the wrongs done on each side, then ye'll never let the auld hatreds die. 'Tis best to tear up the tally sheet and start anew. Ye two are the head o' yer families, an' if ye set the example, the others will follow."

"Aye, Rabbie," sighed Malcolm. "Ye are yer mama's son, able t' see all sides o' a problem. Ye would hae made a good counselor t' Jamie, had he lived."

"Aye, Papa." Rab agreed, yet a part of him felt flagellated, for even his papa's praise was always tainted by the fact that he was the second son, and Malcolm's preferred heir and the apple of his eye had died in that border skirmish. Would he never be good enough to replace sainted James Carlyle?

"Ye are right, an' a good tanist t' yer laird," Marcus said. "I shall strive t' keep my temper under control." He was just lucky this lapse had not happened below in the hall, in front of the men, who might have used it as an excuse to brawl. "Will there be any other matter ye wish t' discuss before ye sign the contract?"

"Actually, there is," Rab interjected, trying not to show how pleased he was when Marcus had called him tanist, which was a chief's second in command and heir, something that Malcolm had never done. "I spoke with Mirabelle earlier, b'fore my tea took effect. And we both agreed that, even though we must marry by the queen's command, we need time t' get t' know each other, like a proper couple. I dinna want a bride who is afraid o' me, or who had heard scurrilous rumors about me, and that's all she kens. Nor do I want a lass who marries me only for duty. I want a true marriage, when my bride is willing t' be my wife, an' the only way that shall happen is if we get to know each other first, like any other couple."

"What are ye sayin'?" Marcus asked.

"I'm sayin' we need to handfast first. Gi' us a year and a day, as was the old custom, indeed it still is, for us to court and learn to be husband and wife, mayhap even fall in love, b'fore we wed in the eyes of God. If this marriage is to be a true marriage, and no' just one for show, we must be given time. The handfasting will do that. It's as legal as a betrothal contract," Rab persuaded.

Marcus slowly nodded. "Aye, I ken that."

"My son is no' just a doctor, but a lawyer as well," Malcolm said proudly.

Rab was astonished to hear such praise come out of the other's mouth, and wondered if Malcolm were drunk.

"Belle has agreed to such?" Marcus asked.

"Aye, she has. But ye can ask her yerself when she wakes up," Rab answered.

Fraser nodded. "I shall hae t'write the queen an' tell her about this, but she will be sure t'agree, since as ye say, 'tis an auld custom." He scribbled something on the contract and then pushed it over to Rab and Malcolm to sign. "I shall get Belle to sign once she's awake, an' then the deal is done."

Malcolm and Rab signed quickly, and then Marcus put the scroll back in his strongbox. Technically, Belle's signature was not needed on the document, but he wanted his daughter to feel a part of the proceedings.

Then he rose. "Will ye join me for a glass o' ale? I believe the lads were startin' a game or two o' cards . . ."

Malcolm brightened at that, but Rab respectfully declined, saying he had to wash off the dust and so forth, as he had not yet had a chance to do so before.

When he arrived at his room, which he shared with Neal, he found his brother had ordered a bath prepared and was now running a comb through his unruly black locks, which were wet from his own bath. His brother had his shirt off as he combed his hair, and Rab immediately noticed the faint bruise on his side. "Neal, why did ye no' tell me ye were hurt?" he demanded.

The boy shrugged, covering a brief wince. "It's no' so bad. Nothing's broken."

"I'll be the judge o' that. Hold still," ordered his brother, and deftly felt the bruise along his ribcage.

"Rab, m'fine—oww!"

"Fine doesna leave ye wi' bruised ribs," his brother refuted. "'Tis no' broken, but it's a bad bruise." He pulled out his salve and put some arnica on then bade the boy hold still again while he wrapped a bandage around for support.

"Are ye done yet?" huffed Neal, he hated being fussed over.

"Aye, scamp. Put yer shirt on, and dinna get into any more quarrels." He began to undress. "Thanks for the bath," he said.

Neal was petting his dog, running his hands through the coarse fur. "I figured ye'd want one, since ye want t'smell like roses for yer new bride," the boy teased.

Rab shook his head. "At least I won't frighten her off by smelling like a mud puddle." He eyed his little brother. "Did ye take one?"

"Aye, Mother. I dinna want ye dragging me into there by my ear and scrubbing me raw," Neal returned, speaking of an incident years ago, when Rab had first returned home from school and found that his brother's concept of hygenie, fostered by Malcolm's neglect, left something to be desired.

"Imp!" Rab mock-scolded, and gave his brother's ear a playful tweak before he got into his own bath to wash the dust of the journey away.

He sat with Neal afterwards while his brother ate and then had the lad go outside to play with his dog while he played chess with one of the Frazer guards.

He left instructions with Belle's women to give her plenty of water and Scotch beef broth with barley to eat when she woke, bread with butter and apples if they had any. He also had made a pot of sage tea and said that should be given as well, and more poppy tea if needed.

Belle slept for hours past the dinner and supper hour, when she woke at last she was achy and hot, thirsty, and needed the necessary. Alanna was there to help her out of bed, and with the aid of her crutch, to use the necessary across the hall from her room. Once that chore was accomplished, she limped back to bed, feeling exhausted despite her sleeping almost the whole day away.

Missus Potts was there, and felt her forehead as they helped her back in bed. "I believe ye've got a fever, lovey," she crooned, as she used to when Belle was small and had gotten sick. "Dr. Carlyle has left ye some more medicine to take, an' some broth and bread."

Belle drank the water and mint thirstily, then ate some broth and a small piece of bread with some honey on it. She drank the sage tea and since her ankle was throbbing again, some more of the poppy one also. Then she drew only the light sheet over herself and drifted off again into an uneasy sleep.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

When she awoke again in the evening, she found her parents, Missus Pottes, Malcolm, Neal, and Rab in the room. "We came t' see how ye were feeling, lass," said her father by way of explanation.

"I'm feeling tired and achy," she admitted. "And thirsty."

Rab came and asked her a few more questions, how much her ankle hurt, if her stomach pained her from the potions, he checked her eyes and counted the pulse in her wrist and also her heartbeat with a hand against her chest.

Margaret nearly fainted. "What in the world are ye doing?"

"Listening to her heartbeat," he replied. "If I had something to . . .magnify the sound to my ears, I wouldn't need to put my hand here," he answered. "I'm making sure the blood is beating properly through her." He took his hand away. "Yer heart's fine, dearie, if a little fast." He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. "It's the fever that concerns me." Frowning, he then examined her splinted ankle, and her wrist, noting they had swollen. "Willowbark," he muttered, half to himself.

Then he turned back to his father and her parents. "I need to gi' her more tea and do a few other things to bring down that fever. But for now . . .we can be doing the handfasting, if ye're ready, Belle?"

She peered up at her parents. "Then 'tis agreed then?"

"We have agreed to it, aye," Marcus replied. "An' we have sent a letter t' the queen, but feel no need to wait since a handfasting is like a betrothal anyhow, and usual among couples." He held out a ribbon, a green one, and said, "Since ye are here at my keep an' as I am laird here, I can perform the ceremony as well as Father Ryan."

Margaret held six cords, four were the colors of the four elements—red for fire, green for earth, blue for water, white for air, and then a strip of the Carlyle plaid and one of the Fraser preferred colors.

Marcus cleared his throat. He had performed this ceremony many times before for several of his tenants, but this was special. This was his daughter. He spoke past the sudden lump in his throat.

"Mirabelle Aileen Fraser and Raibeart Alexander Carlyle, know now before ye go further, that though ye have been by royal decree commanded to marry, still ye have chosen both to obey the command of yer ruler an' also to bring peace to two warring houses forevermore by yer union. As you seek to enter this state of betrothal ye should strive to make real the ideals that to ye, give meaning this ceremony and to the institution of marriage. With full awareness, know that within this circle ye are not only declaring yer intent to be hand fasted before yer friends and family, but ye speak that intent also to God Almighty. The promises made today and the ties that are bound here greatly strengthen your union and shall help ye to declare yerselves to the Lord and each other. Do ye still seek to enter this ceremony?"

"We do," they responded.

He gestured to Margaret, who came and bound their wrists together with both strips of plaid, indicating that their families would now be bound also to this union. Lady Fraser was careful to bind Belle's uninjured wrist with Rab's.

Then she stepped back, the cords still held in her hands. She waited for her husband to continue.

"I invoke the power of the Lord to bless this ceremony, and lend to thee His holy light and strength, that ye may always treat each other with love and respect.

"Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the East and the element of Air, for openness and breath, communication of the heart, and purity o' the mind and body. From the east ye receive the gift o' a new beginning with the rising of each Sun, and ken that each day is a new opportunity for growth.

" Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the South and the element o' fire, for energy, passion, creativity and the warmth o' a loving home. From the fire within ye generate light, which ye will share with one another in even the darkest o' times.

"Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the West, the element o' water, for yer capacity to feel emotion. In marriage ye offer absolute trust to one another, and vow to keep yer hearts open in sorrow as well as joy.

"Blessed be this union with the gifts o' the North, the element of earth, which provides sustenance, fertility and security. The earth will feed and enrich ye, and help ye to build a stable home to which ye may always return."

All present bowed their heads briefly in reverence.

Then Marcus continued. "Mirabelle an' Raibeart, I bid ye look into each other's eyes."

He waited until the couple had turned and done so, each meeting the other's gaze squarely.

"Will ye honor and respect one another, seeking never to break that honor?"

"We will," they replied in unison.

Margaret draped the first cord, the red one over their hands.

"Thus the first binding is made," Marcus intoned. "Will ye share each other's pain and seek t' ease it?"

"We will."

Margaret draped the gold cord over their hands.

"And so ye are bound." Marcus then asked, "Will ye share the burdens o' each so yer spirits may grow?"

"We will."

Margaret laid the blue cord over their hands.

"And so ye are bound. Will ye share each other's laughter and look for the brightness in each other and the positive in yer life?"

"We will."

"And so ye are bound for a year and a day."

Margaret tied all four cords and the plaid together in one eternity knot.

"Mirabelle and Raibeart, as yer hands are now bound together so is yer love. Seek always to love and trust one another, an' use yer love as yer light an' rock from which to grow. Seek also the wisdom and light o' the Lord and remember He watches over ye always, and all good things come from Him."

Margaret moved and took Belle's uninjured wrist in her hand and Malcolm took Rab's and they both tugged very gently upon the couple's hands, indicating the handfasting and vows were blessed and strong in the sight of God.

"What God has brought together, in this betrothal, let no man tear apart. Amen."

They all echoed the last words, and then Rab gave Belle a chaste kiss on her mouth, as tradition demanded.

He had expected to feel nothing, after all she was a stranger to him, despite the ceremony, but he felt an odd heat steal through him and he drew back rather quickly, startled.

Belle could not tell whether the sudden surge she felt when he kissed her was something besides the fever making itself known or if it could mean something more. She was now bound to this man, her former enemy, and somehow she had to make a life with him.

She gave him a tentative smile as her mother unbound their wrists and said, "Normally we'd have a feast in the hall for ye, but . . .since ye are sick, we can do that another time, Belle." She looked questioningly at Rab.

"Aye, that would be best, my lady," he said. He noted the flushed cheeks in his now handfasted wife, and said, "Missus Potts, I will need yer assistance. Please bring me a large bowl and some clean cloths, I need to make a preparation of yarrow wash."

As Missus Potts departed, Margaret asked, "What will ye do wi' that, Dr. Carlyle?"

"Yarrow is a goodly herb for bringing down fevers. I'm going to rub it on yer daughter and if necessary prepare a bath for her also." He turned to Belle. "Ye also need to drink, dearie."

"More of yer tea?" she guessed.

"Aye, an' broth an' water an' cider. As much as ye can hold. The fever saps yer body o' liquids, dearie, an' so we must replace them an' then some."

Belle found she was given enough liquids so that she nearly floated away, and the hours that followed were filled with her mother and Missus Potts bathing her with yarrow wash that Rab concocted, and giving her drinks of water, broth, and sage tea.

She slept in fits and starts, her fever rising and falling. She was hot and cold, and sometimes with the poppy tea administered, in a strange hazy dreamlike state. She alternately burned and froze, shivering with cold and then throwing off her covers because she was suffocating.

Once her fever rose so high that she was delirious and hallucinating. She babbled incoherently and Margaret began to pray the rosary terrified she was going to lose her daughter. Then she turned upon Rab, who had been laboring tirelessly and snapped, "Why dinna ye _do_ somethin', or are ye no good as a doctor as well as a warrior?"

Rab, weary himself from battling the fever, and also concerned for the life of his patient, who also was his wife, replied frostily, "I am doin' the best I can, Lady Fraser, now why dinna ye go an' pray or sleep or do somethin' other than bedevil me when I am tryin' to save my _wife_? In case ye dinna ken, I am no' God, only one human being, an' ye attackin' me is no' helping!"

He dashed a hand across his eyes, which felt gritty and sore, and said, "Missus Potts, let's get the tub ready, we need equal parts o' melted ice an' yarrow wash."

The frustrated Margaret nevertheless realized she had perhaps overstepped, and unable to watch the tense battle any longer, retreated to her private chapel to pray and entreat the Lord to please save her daughter, finally falling asleep there sometime later.

Meanwhile, Belle wandered in a haze of fever and pain, sometimes convinced she was burning in hell and demons were dancing in front of her, stabbing her legs with pitchforks other times she was freezing in a frozen waste, with snow coating her limbs.

It was odd though, for the same voice, like skin stroking velvet, would speak to her , coaxing her to drink something that eased the fiery torment, that trickled cool water over her, and helped her relieve herself. There was a pair of slender gentle hands that accompanied the voice, and she invariably felt safer and a bit better when the hands held her and helped her to drink.

"Good, dearie. That's it," Rab crooned to her.

For nearly three days he had battled the fever that sought to take his wife from him, using every technique he had learned to fight the fever that ravaged her. Twice Margaret had asked why he did not bleed her and he had snarled that such methods would put her daughter in the ground at this time, and to quit asking such idiotic questions. "She has begun to respond to my treatments, no' as well as I hoped, but she's responding."

He wrung out another cloth soaked in yarrow and ran it over his wife's flushed face. Her fever was high, but starting to subside, and he knew instinctively that his treatment was working. He coaxed her as much as possible to drink, then bathed her with icemelt and yarrow repeatedly.

Alanna and Margery, Belle's ladies maids, spelled Missus Potts, but Rab himself rested in snatches in a chair, using a special tea he brewed for himself to keep awake long after most people would have fallen fast asleep.

The maids were amazed at his constitution and fortitude, not knowing he was pushing himself. Neal knew, however, and brought his brother several plates of food, hearty stew, bread, and fruit and water, for Rab refused mead since he didn't want to ruin the efficacy of the stimulant tea he drank.

"Is Belle gonna be all right, Rab?" Neal asked as he brought him his second plate of bread, cheese, and fruit around lunchtime.

"I hope so, dearie. Her fever is down and it should break soon. How are ye doing? And yer new friend?"

"M' fine, and so is he. He likes playing with Winter," Neal whispered. "Umm . . . and Papa asked me for some of yer headache remedy."

Rab groaned. "That'll hae t' wait. God's bones, why does he pick now t' get soused?"

Neal sighed. "He was playin' cards last night. Ye know how he gets."

"Aye, like a drunken ox." Rab rolled his eyes. He broke off some bread and ate it with the cheese. His eyes felt like burned holes in his head. He frowned, thinking this was typical of his papa, to only think about himself.

"What should I tell him?" Neal asked uneasily.

"Tell him t' drink water an' I'll make him up something later." Rab muttered, half tempted to make Malcolm up something that would keep him puking for an hour.

"I'm prayin' for her to get well," Neal said, then went back downstairs.

An hour-and-a-half passed and he had Marcus and Margaret up to check on their daughter, who showed signs of steadily throwing off the fever. Both looked relieved, though Belle was not out of the woods yet.

Rab bathed her once more, wishing she would wake and see him, even though she would probably be embarrassed out of her mind because he had seen her naked. Then again, he _was_ her physician and also her husband, so there really were no secrets in that department.

He leaned wearily back in the chair Missus Potts had placed beside the bed after spooning some cool sage tea between her lips. Then he dozed, unable to keep awake any longer, his head lolling to one side, his floofy hair falling into his face.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle's eyes fluttered open, focusing for the first time in days. Her cobalt eyes took in the sun slanting through the window, the feel of the sheets against her skin, and how cool she felt. There was a slight breeze from the semi opened casement, and she inhaled the scent of spring as it wafted about her face. She noted the array of bottles and cups on her nightstand, recalling hazily how someone had kept making her drink various things.

Slowly she sat up. She felt drained and tired and the was a faint throb in her ankle and a lesser one in her wrist, which was in a soft cloth sling. She glanced to her right and saw her betrothed in a chair, sleeping. Amazed, she stared at him, thinking how sleep softened his somewhat angular features and made him look . . .peaceful and handsome, though unconventionally so. The hair over his eyes made him appear slightly silly and as it fluttered up and down with each breath he took, she giggled softly.

He stirred, and she put a hand over her mouth, not wishing to wake him. It was then she noted that she was . . .naked beneath the sheet pulled over her. Alarmed, she pulled the sheet tighter about her, wondering what had happened to her chemise and how long she had slept and why was her husband asleep in her chair, as if he had no bed to sleep in?

She considered calling for Missus Potts or one of her other girls, but didn't wish to disturb the peacefully sleeping Rab. Having him wake up while she was in such a state of dishabille would be quite disastrous, even if the handfasting did make him her husband for a year and a day. She went to reach for a cup of water on the nightstand when Missus Potts entered.

"Oh! Belle, dearie, ye're awake! Praise the Lord an' the heavenly host!" Missus Potts looked as if she were about to weep. "How are ye feeling, honey?" She came to feel Belle's forehead.

"I feel much better. Why? How long have I slept?"

"Near on three days," answered her former nurse. "We feared ye . . .might not wake. But Dr. Carlyle . . .he was determined ye would make it, an' he kept givin' ye his cordials an' bathin' ye with his concoctions an' by God's grace his treatments brought ye back to us."

Belle gaped at her. "Ye mean . . .Rab . . .Dr. Carlyle has . . .he has . . ." she stammered. She felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

"Aye, he has been here since ye first fell ill days ago . . .an' barely has he been away from ye," Missus Potts declared. "He took such good care of ye, Belle, like ye were his beloved child or . . .or . . . well . . . ye are his wife . . .and see now how our prayers have been answered . . ."

She brushed her mistress's hair back from her forehead and said softly, "Would ye like me t' help ye into a clean chemise? We kept one off ye because it was not practical t' hae one on ye while we were continually bathin' ye," she explained as she retrieved one from Belle's armoire and helped slip it on over her mistress's head. Then she tenderly ran a brush through Belle's hair and tied it back. "There. Now ye just lie here an' I must tell yer lady mother an' yer father ye are awake."

She bustled out of the room, leaving Belle sitting up with her foot propped up on pillows, sipping at some water and reading the book of animal husbandry that she had started before trying to escape her unwanted betrothal and ending up right back where she had begun. She peered at her wrist, observing that it seemed to be less swollen and thinking that Rab was, after all, a very good physician.

He stirred again, muttered something, then straightened and opened his eyes. "Oww! Bloody crick in my neck!" he groaned, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

As he did so he noticed Belle, sitting up and awake, lucid for the first time in three days. "Belle! You're awake!" he grinned at her in delight, and she felt the first fluttering of desire in her as she saw that smile, it was like watching a rainbow after the rain, it illuminated his entire face and transformed his rather ordinary features into something that was truly beautiful.

His crick forgotten, he rose and gently felt her forehead. "Yer fever's broken, thank God!"

"And ye also, Dr. Carlyle," she pointed out.

"Rab, dearie. Or do ye no' remember we are handfasted now?"

"I remember. In fact it's the last thing I do remember. Everything since . . . is all blurred."

"Well, ye were verra ill, and so perhaps 'tis best ye do no' recall it," he agreed.

Then he said, "Now that the crisis is past, I want ye to eat an' drink as much as ye can, things wi' lots of meat an' vegetables an' eggs. But in small portions first, till yer stomach gets used to solid food again. I am so verra glad ye are feeling better, Belle." Then he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

She saw that he had large circles under his eyes and looked exhausted. "Rab, ye look all done in. Why dinna ye go and rest?"

"Aye, perhaps I better. I have no' slept in . . .quite some time, except in brief snatches."

He also knew that since he had stopped drinking the tea, he was going to become tired very swiftly. He caressed her cheek. "I . . .hae a surprise to gi' ye when I wake up. But right now, I must bid ye good night." He yawned again.

He was leaving the room just as Missus Potts returned with Margaret and Marcus. Both Frasers thanked him profusely before going in to see their daughter, and Rab hastily made his exit and retreated to his room, where he washed, changed into a fresh shirt and then tumbled into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Rab slept the clock around, waking only to use the guarderobe, drink some water in a pitcher, then fall asleep again. When he woke on the second day, he was ravenous. Neal brought him up a tray with soup, meat pasties, fruit, cheese, and sweet pastries, as well as cider. "Rise n' shine, dearie, yer burnin' daylight," he teased, delighting in the fact that for once he got to turn the tables on his elder brother and say what Rab normally said to him.

The doctor poked his head out from beneath his covers, his hair sticking up, and said, "Hey, scamp. How is my wife doing?"

Neal came and set the tray down on the table, and then jumped on the bed. "Belle's doin' much better, she even managed to sit in a chair an' eat today."

"Good. That's good. I'll hae t' see about makin' a more sturdy crutch for her." Rab said, and then fell upon the food like a starving wolf.

Neal watched then said, "I thought ye were gonna sleep till Jesus came again, an' Papa thinks we ought to be headin' home soon, as soon as ye say yer wife's fit to travel."

"I figured so," Rab nodded. "Another day or two and we can be on our way. As long as Belle feels up to it. I'll no' risk her takin' a chill. How about the surprise? Where hae ye been keepin' it?"

"In the stables recently, so's the wee thing can get some exercise." Neal answered.

"Ah. Well, gi' me ten minutes t' wash an' shave then bring it here. 'Tis time we gave it to Belle. I hae a feeling it will help her get better quicker."

Neal grinned. "Be right back. Dinna take too long prettyin' yerself, Rab, like some court dandy!"

Then he ducked his brother's playful swat and scurried from the room.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Rab had just finished fastening his plaid cloak about himself and belting his shirt when Neal reappeared, looking rather alarmed. "What's wrong, lad?" he asked. "Could ye no' find it or something?"

Neal shook his head. "Nay, but . . .Rab look at it! 'Tis something the matter wi' its ears!"

"What?" asked the doctor, puzzled. "Fleas? Mites?"

Neal went and withdrew a pretty white and golden tabby striped kitten from the pocket of his jacket. The little feline was barely eight weeks old, weaned and able to eat solid food, with large green eyes, and was purring loudly. "See! Its ears are flopped over!"

Rab took the kitten and gently cradled it in his arms. The kitten was quite calm, lying there without fear, and he gently fingered the odd folds in its ears. He examined them, trying to make them prick up, but as soon as he released them, they flopped back down. "Hmm. How verra odd." He whistled, the kitten looked at him. "It doesna seem to affect its hearing. Nor does it look sickly. Eyes and nose are clear, no discharge." He turned the kitten on its back and gently palpated its belly, finding all normal there too. He felt the small ribcage and heart beating, smiled as the kitten playfully grabbed his hand and gently teethed, tail twitching. "Neal, this little lad seems to be healthy. The ears are clear, no infection or redness, no fleas either."

"But Rab . . .why are his ears . . . _rumpled_ that way?"

The doctor shrugged. "I dinna know. 'Tis a mystery. Mayhap that is how the Lord intended. Like some people have one blue an' one brown eye." He stroked the kitten and it purred again.

"Then ye still want to give him to Belle? Even if he's . . .deformed?"

"Neal, the kitten is no' deformed, just has floppy ears. Like a dog that has one pricked ear and one flopped over. And see what a nice and calm fella he is. Did he seem nervous or shy when ye had him up here in the room?"

Neal shook his head. "Nay. He dinna mind even when I took him away from his mama for a time. He played with me an' slept on my chest. But he dinna have the folded ears a week ago."

"Well, mayhap it's something that happens o'er time, like some foals are born black but then the coat turns gray later. Dinna fash yerself, Neal. There's nothing wrong wi' this kitten."

His brother still looked concerned, but then he supposed it was up to Rab if he wanted to give Belle a kitten that was not quite like a normal cat. "If ye say so, Rab."

"Come, let's hae him meet his new mistress."

Belle looked up, rather bored from staring at the four walls of her chamber, when Neal and Rab came through the door. "Oh! Ye're awake, husband."

"Aye, I got my beauty sleep," he joked, his eyes twinkling.

She laughed. "Well . . .I can see the dark circles under yer eyes are gone."

"Ah, so then I dinna look like ye gave me a black eye?" he teased.

"Nay." Then she spotted what he held in his hands. "Oh! A wee kitten!"

"'Tis the surprise I told ye about," Rab grinned. "When ye mentioned ye never had a pet o' yer own, I thought a kitten would be nice for ye t' keep ye company. I had Neal go and fetch him from home while ye were sick, one o' the barn cats, Mitzie had a litter recently."

"I picked out the bonniest one for ye," Neal said shyly.

Rab went and handed the kitten to Belle, who held it to her chest. "He's been weaned an' is no' sickly. Should make ye a fine companion, he likes t' cuddle wi' ye already."

Belle was stroking the tiny cat on her lap, "Oh isn't he a sweet little bairn!" She giggled when the kitten went to gnaw her fingers and then she saw the little feline's distinctly folded ears. "Why, Rab! His ears are . . .well, they're rumpled!"

"Aye, 'tis an odd thing, but it doesna affect his hearing any. If ye dinna wish t' keep him as yer pet, we can always put him back in the barn an' pick another from the litter for ye," Rab offered quickly, wanting her to be happy.

Belle shook her head rapidly, "Oh, nay! I dinna want another. I love him . . . because he's different and no' like all the other kitties." She hugged the tiny gold striped kitten with the odd ears and round head to her, as if afraid Rab would insist on taking him away. "If he isna bothered by having rumpled ears, then why should I be?"

"Then he's yours, dearie," Rab laughed.

The little kitten batted the string on Belle's dressing gown.

"What are ye gonna call him?" asked Neal curiously.

Belle smiled down at the playful little animal, her first real pet. "Thank ye Rab. 'Tis a lovely surprise." She tilted her head to one side as the kitten chewed on the string, cuddled into her lap. "I think . . . there's only one name that fits this wee laddie." She tapped the kitten playfully on the head. "I shall name ye—Rumple, for yer rumpled ears."

The newly named Rumple looked at her and meowed softly, then purred as he teethed on the dressing gown string, plainly content with both his new name and his new mistress.

 **A/N: If any of you readers are cat fanciers or cat lovers you might recognize the kitten Rab gives Belle as a specific cat breed. Here's a hint—the first one was actually the product of a barn cat in Scotland. I thought it fitting to have this kitten as Rab's gift to her. If anyone knows the cat breed, feel free to say so . . .the first correct answer gets to request a prompt from me.**


	5. A Spot of Trouble

**5**

 **A Spot of Trouble**

Belle giggled as her kitten raced about her chamber, chasing a small ball of yarn from her workbasket. She watched as Rumple pounced and sprang, grasping the trailing end of the yarn in his small paws and then rolling over, biting it and kicking with his hindlegs, just as he would have a mouse or some other small prey, to kill it. As Rab had observed, the wee cat's rumpled ears didn't affect his hearing or his ability to play, and his antics were keeping his mistress, who was stuck in bed, vastly amused. Belle dangled her arm over the bed and wriggled her fingers, making a soft "Psst! Psst! C'mere, wee Rumple!" to attract the kitten.

The ever-curious kitten lifted his head from his yarn and then jumped up, bounding over to see this new moving thing.

"Hello, wee lad!" she crooned as Rumple batted her fingers and she scratched the gold and white cat along his back.

Rumple arched into her hand and purred loudly, rubbing himself against her hand.

Belle stroked and played with him, until the kitten grew weary, jumped up on the bed and settled in her lap, purring happily, his evergreen eyes closing. The Fraser heiress smiled, her lips curving pleasantly, as she gazed down at her pet. "Aye, I've tired ye out, haven't I?" She ran her fingers through the silky coat, thinking again how fortunate she was to have a husband who had given her this sweet cat for her own. Perhaps . . .perhaps this handfasting would not be so bad after all.

She sighed and looked at her splinted bandaged ankle, thinking what a nuisance it was. Then again, mayhap it was a blessing in disguise, for with it she now had twelve weeks to acclimate herself to her husband, his family, and her new home at Carlyle keep. She wondered when they would travel there, knowing that it was because she had been ill that they had delayed doing so.

Not that she was all that eager to leave her home, but she knew she had to leave eventually, now that she was Rab's wife. She picked up her Book of Hours, and began to read the devotional for this day, April 15th, 1565. _Proverbs 15:1 A gentle answer turneth away wrath, but harsh words stir up anger._

She pondered those words, thinking how apropos they were considering how she was now handfasted to the son of her enemy. Not that she had much opportunity to quarrel with Rab since falling sick, but perhaps this was God's way of warning her that some disagreement might be pending, and she had better be prepared to speak softly to mitigate someone's wrath?

Thus far, trapped in her room, resting after her bout with fever and drinking Rab's herbal tonics, Belle had little opportunity to meet anyone from her husband's clan save his wee brother Neal and for a brief moment or two his papa, Malcolm, during the handfasting. She hoped they were all getting along with her family and their retainers.

Just then her chamber door opened and in walked her mother. "Belle, how are you feeling today?"

"Much better than yesterday, Mama," she said. She indicated the kitten asleep in her lap. "Rab gave me a present, a wee kitty of my very own. Was it not thoughtful of him?"

Margaret smiled at the small animal. "Aye, 'twas thoughtful of him. I see he kens ye well, daughter. Most other lasses would prefer flowers or jewelry, but ye—ah he kens what yer heart loves most. Now, I heard that yer husband's sire wished to leave today, but yer husband wished to wait another day to make sure ye were up t' the journey." Her tone was approving. "That's a wise man, Belle. I think ye have the best o' the lot. Have ye eaten?"

"Aye. Missus Potts brought breakfast and the noon meal. Then she and Alanna packed most of my things for me."

"Good," Margaret said pleasantly. "Would ye like me to comb yer hair?"

Belle smiled and nodded. Doing her hair was difficult with her one arm and sprained wrist. She also knew that this was the last time her mother would perform this task for her, and so she sat up and turned slightly, so Margaret could comb out her lush hair and fix it with ribbons and braid it in a coronet.

As she brought the brush through her hair, Belle gave a soft sound of contentment. And suddenly she wished she could remain this way forever, in her father's house, with her mother's gentle example to follow. "It's too bad I canna stay here this way . . ."

Her mother continued to brush her hair, saying softly, "I ken ye are nervous, Belle. 'Tis how most young lasses are when they hae to leave home an' cleave t' their husbands. But think . . .there will be a whole new household for ye to organize and show yer skills, as I hae taught ye, and it will be an adventure . . .one of the only adventures most lasses are allowed to have."

Belle nodded. "Yer right, Mama . . .it's just . . . a lot to adjust to. But I shall manage. My husband . . .he's no' really as all the tales say."

"No . . .he saved yer life, Belle. His skill as a doctor is more than any o' us kenned, and I never was so grateful in my life for a man who can heal rather than warrior who can fight. He's no' like most men, Belle, but I think ye should celebrate the differences rather than let them come between ye."

"Aye, I ken, but . . .what about the rest o' his family? I dinna ken how well they will treat me," Belle fretted.

"Dinna fash yerself, lass. Ye'll be the tanist's wife an' none shall offer ye insult, even if ye were a Fraser," Margaret soothed. "Besides, I think yer husband will no' allow anyone t' speak ill o' ye."

Belle supposed that might be true, considering it would not reflect well on him. Then she shrugged, thinking that she could handle any rudeness tossed her way with aplomb and tact, as she had been raised to do. Feeling somewhat better, she leaned into the strokes of the boar bristle brush, and just relaxed, allowing her mother to dress her hair and make her feel lovely even when she was injured and stuck in bed.

Margaret happily braided her daughter's hair, thinking sadly that she would miss doing this, as this was her last child and she would miss her witty and intrepid daughter, even when her actions sometimes made Margaret's hair almost white. But she loved all her daughters, though she was closest to her youngest, as Belle had been with her longest. Still, all children grew up, and it was time for Belle to spread her wings and fly. Margaret hoped she would fly far, and succeed in all her endeavors and be content in her new life.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Supper in the hall consisted of a haunch of venison, a poached salmon, new potatoes, carrots and peas, and a dessert of chocolate pudding and shortbread. There were copious amounts of sweet cider, ale, and Scotch whiskey. After the meal was over, there were some entertainers and singers and though several of the ladies retired upstairs to Margaret's solar for tea and scones, some chose to remain below in the hall with their maids, watching the plays and listening to the singers.

Rab felt weariness steal over him, as he had been up since early that morn, seeing to the packing of his own things and Neal's, even though he knew his gillie, Theo, was efficient, Rab preferred to be self sufficient. He'd also been brewing some more tonics and herbal drafts for the lady of the castle, to replace what he had used, as well as examining his wife to make sure she was no longer feverish. He'd then gone for a walk with Neal and Winter, returning just as supper was put on the table.

Now, despite the entertainment, Rab found he was not really in the mood to stay in the hall, where bunches of raucous men, one of them his own father, were in their cups and playing at games of chance just as soon as the entertainers were finished.

Neal shuffled his feet beneath the table and said to Rab, "I oughta walk Winter b'fore bed, Rab." The dog slept with the boy beside the bed and sometimes on it as well, though here Rab insisted Winter sleep on the floor since the Frasers might not take kindly to having a muckle big dog sleeping on their beds.

"Away wi' ye, lad," Rab waved him off, seeing that Malcolm was too busy drinking another tankard and talking with another man to be bothered with his youngest. "But mind ye hie yerself back here as soon as ye can, since we hae t'get an early start tomorrow."

"Aye, I will, Rab," Neal whistled softly and Winter crawled from beneath the trestle and trotted happily after his master.

Rab decided to go up and check on Belle before retiring, see how she was and if she needed anymore pain medication. He mounted the stairs.

Meanwhile, the entertainers finished their songs and plays and bid everyone goodnight, and so did Marcus, who was feeling a bit sleepy and decided to forgo the nightly gaming and drinking. He followed soon after Rab, leaving the hall to the men and to Malcolm, who had weakness for wagering.

Belle looked up when a soft tapping came at her door. "Come in," she called, having just been assisted into a soft nightgown and quilted robe, she was sitting with her foot propped on a stool by a small table, writing in her journal. "Och, Rab!" she exclaimed and set the diary and her quill and ink aside.

"Good evening, dearie, I came up to see if ye needed anything, like some more medicine, before bed," he greeted, smiling.

Belle considered. "Umm . . . well, my ankle is throbbing a wee bit."

Rab opened his medical satchel, which he always carried on him. "Here's some more poppy extract and willowbark," he said putting two vials on the table. "Put two drop o' the poppy intae a goblet o' water and drink it, and the willowbark needs t' steep in a tea first. That should help ye. Is there anything else painin' ye?"

His concern touched her and she said, "My wrist is a little sore but otherwise I feel fine."

"May I?" Rab asked, and he sat down next to her and gently removed her arm from the sling to examine it. His gentle touch made her wince, and he apologized, saying, "'Tis still tender, I ken. But . . .it looks better than yesterday. Ye need t' keep soaking it in the hot water wi' the salts an' taking the willowbark. Keeping it still an' elevated will help too."

Then he went and fetched a pitcher of water and a goblet and measured out the correct dose himself, just because he was so used to ministering to his patients. Belle drank it down, then said, reluctant to go to sleep yet, "Would ye like t'play chess, Rab?"

Rab's eyes brightened. "Aye, I'd like that. I have no' found a decent chess player in my papa's household yet. I'm teaching Neal, but the lad is no' my match yet."

Belle's indigo gaze sparkled and she said, "I think I can make ye work for yer victory, Dr. Carlyle." She moved the board with the carved ivory and ebony chessmen into the center of the table.

As she did so, a small furry body jumped onto her lap, startling her. "Och, Rumple, ye wee imp!" she laughingly scolded her kitten, who was now kneading her leg. He peered up at her, his rumpled ears making him twice as endearing.

Rab smiled and scratched the kitten behind the ears. "So ye like yer wee pet, do ye?"

"Aye, he's verra lovable . . .even when he bites my toes under the covers," Belle admitted.

The doctor chuckled. "All cats are wee scamps at times." He petted Rumple under the chin and the kitten purred and purred, his eyes lidding. "All right, lad, now I need t' be concentrating on my game. White or black?"

"Black," Belle said, letting Rab go first, since he was white.

Rab studied the board, then moved a pawn forward.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Neal played fetch with Winter after their walk to tire the collie out before bed, and by the time he returned to the hall with the panting collie in tow, the men were deep into their cups and gaming, and a few were playing and teasing the serving wenches also. Neal would have ignored all this and gone up to bed, but then he saw his papa, who was in the middle of a game of dice, turn and leer at well dressed lady in a peacock colored gown, who looked to be about his elder brother's age.

Neal groaned. He knew that look, had seen it on his papa many times before. It was the look that Malcolm usually gave any comely lass at Carlyle before he took them upstairs. _Nay, Papa. No' here, where we are guests o' Laird Fraser!_ He thought in dismay.

Malcolm took another sip from his goblet, his bright green shirt standing out among the more subdued browns, beiges, and murrays in the hall. Malcolm had always been partial to green, just as Neal was to the smoky heather blue he usually wore on his tunic and plaid cloak. Then the Carlyle chief turned back to the dice and shaking the leather cup, cast the die.

As the bones clattered to a stop, a shout went up from some of the Frasers watching. "Snake eyes! Sure n' Lady Luck hae turned her face from ye tonight, milaird!"

Malcolm scowled, shoving half his winnings across the table. There was some laughter, which did not please the Carlyle chieftain, especially when he was in his cups. Then he noticed the lovely lady who was watching in the peacock gown, her hair bright as spun gold in the candlelight and turning to her, said brazenly, "Now, lads, Lady Luck might be fickle, but here's another lass who will make any man's sword stand at attention, aye?" He went and put an arm about her, one hand groping her breast expertly. "Come and gi' us a kiss, pretty maid, an' the luck shall return t' me!"

"Sir! I . . .am not that sort of lass!" the woman cried, struggling to get away.

Malcolm smirked. "Ah, coom now, hiney, an' dinna be shy. I can feel ye're ripe fer the bedding an' ye need no' fear I canna make ye happy, for me lad Roger is always ready t' please the lasses!"

Cheers and roars of laughter came from his drunken guardsmen, though Neal noted that some of the Frasers were scowling. Swallowing hard, he knelt and whispered to his collie, "Winter, go fetch Rab! Go get Rab!"

The collie whined and trotted off upstairs, and Neal prayed the dog would find his brother and bring him back down here, for he was the only one who might speak sense to Malcolm like this.

"Unhand me, sir! I am no' a lightskirt, I am Lady Margaret's cousin, Beatrice . . .!"

But Malcolm was too far gone to care who he held, and he seemed to have forgotten whatever manners he possessed. While several of his men cheered him on, encouraging him to show the reluctant lass a good time, some of the Fraser men were muttering uncomplimentary things and frowning.

Horrified, Neal came up to them, figuring he might at least try and distract his papa somewhat, and said, "Papa, mayhap the lady doesna want to do this now . . .mayhap ye'd best go back t' yer game."

Malcolm growled, "When I want advice from a young pup barely outta leadin' strings, I'll ask for it! Hie yerself away, laddie, this is men's business and ye're no' ready for it, seein' as ye ain't even dipped yer wick yet!"

The men roared at Malcolm's swift wit, and Neal felt himself turn scarlet. He wanted to run away, but he knew he was this poor lady's only champion. "Papa, remember ye wanted t' get an early start—"

"Aye, an' we'll start when _I_ say we're ready, an' no' before!" Malcolm snarled, irritated at Neal's interruption. "Now hie yerself t'bed, scapegrace!"

Desperate, Neal tried again. "But Papa—"

Malcolm's hand lashed out then, cuffing the boy hard on the cheek, and nearly knocking him down. "Git, whelp! B'fore I teach ye to obey wi' this!" he indicated the broad leather belt he wore.

Clutching his now bruised cheek, his face flaming, Neal staggered to his feet and retreated, catcalls and chuckles of drunken men following him as he strove to make a quick exit from the hall.

He glanced back to note with some relief that the lady had managed to withdraw from his papa's grasp and was now backing away, and some of the Fraser men had come to her aid.

Undaunted, Malcolm pursued, yelling, "Now dinna play coy, dearie, for I assure ye the size o' me Roger is a far longer sword than ye hae ever seen b'fore, aye!" And he made an obscene gesture at his crotch.

Neal wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. _Papa, ye idiot! Mama'd beat yer fool head in did she see this!_

"How dare ye impugn my honor!" cried the Lady Beatrice, still backing away.

As if that were a signal, one of the Frasers snarled, "Cheating Carlyle scum!" and swung at one of Malcolm's men.

After the first punch flew, it was like a dam bursting, and soon the whole hall was filled with swearing, drunken, brawling men, punching and knocking over trestles and benches, the feuding resumed for the moment as old hatreds surfaced.

Neal was halfway up the stairs when he ran into Rab. "Rab, Papa went an' was . . .was . . .tryin' t'kiss a lady . . .and she was no' wantin' his attention, he insulted Lady Margaret's own cousin . . .an' now there's a fight . . ." he babbled.

Rab slowed and then grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Aye, I ken that when yer dog cam t' get me, no' that I cannae hear for myself." Then his eyes caught the darkening bruise on his brother's cheek. "Who did that t' ye?"

"Who d'ye think?" Neal said bitterly.

Rab swore. "Lecherous old pig! Go upstairs an' I'll tend to it later, after I get this mess sorted out." His temper, which had been simmering from the moment he had heard the commotion below and been dragged out of Belle's room by Winter, now blazed into a sudden firestorm.

"But Rab, what about Papa?"

"Ye dinna fash yerself, Neal. _I'll_ handle _him._ " His tone was grim as winter. "Now go on wi' ye, dearie."

Then he strode down the rest of the stairs, his anger like a glittering cloak that covered him in its armor and blazed from his eyes.

Neal watched, unable to look away, as his brother walked calmly through the brawling men, seized a tankard of ale off one of the trestles, then pushed and dodged several scuffling Highlanders until he reached his sire, who was now loudly singing a bawdy tavern tune, "Oooh . . .dance t' day an' all night, drink up me hearties, an' doon worrit 'bout the morning, 'twill come what may, 'tis time to play, wi' a willin' maid in the hay, gi' her a poke an'—hey!" he bellowed as the entire contents of the tankard were dumped over his head.

Shaking his head to clear it, though it was still fuzzy, Malcolm gazed blearily up at his elder son, muttering, "What's t' big idea, Rabbie?"

A furious Rab grabbed his father by the collar and shook him, his voice rasping with anger, but still audible to the rest of the hall. "Papa, ye're drunk an' actin' like a witless looby! D'ye no' ken how ye've insulted our guests? Is this how a laird behaves, an' after ye promised me ye would set a good example? Gamin, drinkin', an' insulting ladies? Ye auld lech, Mama's spinnin' in her grave! 'Tis lucky she's dead, else the shame o' yer actions would surely put her in the ground!"

Malcolm blinked, some of his son's angry words penetrating his alcohol fogged brain. "But . . .but Rab . . .'twas only . . ." he stuttered.

"Aye, 'twas only a few pints an' a few tosses o' the dice," his son sneered. "An' now look what ye wrought!" He turned his father about so he could see the brawling going on. Rab was so angry that had Malcolm not been his laird and father, he might have been sorely tempted to lay the jackass out with his fist on the floor. "Ye dinna even ken what I'm sayin'!" he growled, then he released his sire. _God grant me patience for surely I need it, because sometimes I cannae stand my own father!_ Ever since his mother had passed, Malcolm had fallen more and more into dissolute ways, and despite everything Rab had tried, he could not drag his father out of the morass he seemed determined to drown in. Worse, it was one thing to indulge in such behavior at home, where everyone expected and knew about it, and none would dare reproach the chieftain except his son, but to do so here—in the home of their new kin, who were probably looking for any excuse to point fingers at and mock the Carlyles, was to Rab a great shame and almost inexcusable. He felt like throwing Malcolm in the back of a cart and hauling his drunken arse back to Carlyle this very night.

Trying to rein in his temper, Rab snapped, "The least ye could do, Papa, is help me maintain order—"

But his words fell upon deaf ears, for Malcolm gave him a rather silly grin and suddenly passed out, and Rab almost allowed his head to hit the floor before grabbing his sire and shouting, "Duncan! Geordie! Hie yerselves here an' take the laird t' his chamber!"

His father's two gillies, or manservants, managed to take one arm each of the unconscious Carlyle patriarch and haul him away, while now Rab had to figure out how to separate two factions of brawling Highlanders before real injuries were done beyond bruises, sore heads, and nauseous stomachs from too much whiskey. He was lucky all the men seemed to be doing was fighting with their fists and booted feet and not their _sgian dubh_ , the dirk all Highlanders carried upon them for cutting meat, cheese, bread and as a last resort to protect themselves.

He glanced around, needing to get the men's attention, and not wishing to scream himself hoarse or risk getting his own head bashed in by some lout whose blood was up and too far in his cups to realize he faced the Carlyle tanist and chieftain's son. As luck would have it, one of the performers had left behind a small trumpet, such as those a herald used to announce important guests, as they had been doing a play about King Arthur. Rab snatched it off the table.

Then he put it to his lips and blew the sharp notes to cease fighting.

For a moment nothing happened, and Rab thought maybe it had been wiser to find a set of bagpipes instead.

But then slowly the brawling halted, as several men responded instinctively to that call.

Rab blew another sally, then lowered the trumpet and cried, "Cease this unseemly brangling at once! At once I order ye! Or would ye all be accused of breaking the queen's peace?"

 _That_ threat, which carried with it a penalty up to and including death if warranted, made half the men, mostly Carlyles, quit squabbling and draw away, shuffling their feet and hanging their heads like small boys scolded by a stern schoolmaster.

But a few Frasers were not inclined to let it go, nor to obey Rab seeing as he was the enemy's son, and were all for continuing the fight, until a clear icy voice spoke above the fray.

"Did ye no' hear my husband? Frasers, cease this quarreling, or else we shall be forfeit our honor and mayhap our lives for breaking the peace agreed upon with my handfasting," Belle ordered from her position halfway down the stairs, leaning both on a crutch and Neal's arm. "As yer lady, I command ye t' quit acting like schoolboys and settle down!"

At that, the Fraser contingent ceased trying to continue the quarrel and they also looked ashamed.

But then one unwise Fraser man declared, "'Twas the Carlyle chief who started it!"

"It dinna matter!" Belle called back spiritedly. " _I'm_ finishing it!" She fixed them with a glower that would have done her father proud.

Rab turned and nodded at her respectfully, then he looked to where the lady who his papa had been mistreating stood, along the wall with her maidservant. He approached her and bowed, saying, "Ye have my deepest apology and regret for the manner in which my father treated ye, milady. I can only beg yer forgiveness, and tell ye that it willna happen again."

Lady Beatrice nodded, somewhat mollified. "He . . .he dinna seem t' ken that I was no' a tart t' be fondled."

"Aye, and while it's no excuse, my papa was verra drunk, an' when he is in his cups, he loses the wits he was born with." Rab sighed. "I pray ye dinna judge us all by his bad manners. An' come the morn he'll be givin' ye an apology his own self." _I'll make sure o' that! An' one for Neal too!_

"Well . . .perhaps I shouldna hae stayed past the tumblers," Lady Beatrice said, blushing. "The hall is no place for a lady once the eve sets in." Then she curtseyed to Rab and said, "Thank ye, sir. Ye are most kind." She flashed him a pert grin before departing up the stairs, murmuring a good night to Belle as she did so.

Rab cast each of his clansmen a disparaging glance, then said, "I suggest all ye Carlyles hie yerselves t' bed for I mean to get an early start home tomorrow. An' if ye are sporting a sore head an' queasy stomach from this night's doings on the morrow, I dinna give a bloody damn!

There were murmurs of assent, and they soon went to sleep on pallets, rolled in their plaids beside the two great fireplaces in the hall.

Rab turned and mounted the stairs, saying quietly, "My thanks for yer intervention, Belle. They dinna seem inclined to listen t' me, being who I am."

"Who ye are, is my husband, and as such fit to command any man of my clan," Belle replied.

"May I escort ye back upstairs then?" Rab asked gallantly. "Neal, go on t' bed, lad."

"Aye, Rab." His brother waited until Rab had given Belle his arm before bounding back up the stairs.

They ascended the stairs slowly, due to Belle's injury, and as they did so, Rab asked, "Why did ye come down?"

"I saw Neal on the way t' yer chamber and asked him what was amiss, an' he told me what had happened. I thought ye might need some assistance an' rather than involve my papa, I decided t' help ye instead."

"Ye arrived just in time," Rab acknowledged. "I was afraid I might hae t' start pounding some heads in order to get them t' quit fighting." He shook his head ruefully. "Ye ken as well as I do that there's nothin' a Highlander likes better than a good brawl . . .unless it be his whiskey, a gay tune, or a bonny lass."

Belle could not deny that, and so merely nodded and concentrated on where she put her feet, grateful for her husband's strong arm, for she was still a wee bit unsteady with the crutch.

They had reached her room, and a sleepy Margery was awaiting her mistress' return. "Milady, is all well?"

"Aye, Margie, 'tis all settled. A wee bit o' a misunderstanding, but 'tis done now. Go back t' sleep." Belle said, and allowed Rab to help her back to her bed.

As her husband assisted her into bed, propping her foot upon the pillows, a white paw darted out from beneath the bed and swiped at Rab's boot. The doctor glanced down and clicked his tongue at the kitten, saying, "Ye wee beastie, 'tis time t' sleep, no' play."

But then he knelt and petted the impish Rumple, until the kitten relaxed and he scooped up the small feline and placed him beside Belle. "I bid ye good night, Belle, an' pleasant dreams."

"And I bid ye the same, an' may angels watch o'er ye," she replied. "What time shall we be departing tomorrow morning?"

"Ah . . .mayhap an hour before Tierce," Rab answered, knowing he wouldn't be able to rouse most of the men of his household before then and especially not his papa, whom he intended to suffer whatever hangover he had earned as well as his own blistering lecture for the incident in the hall. "We'll break our fast wi' yer family before we go."

"I'll be ready," Belle assured him, intending to get up at Prime and make sure everything was ready, even though she knew that Missus Potts had everything packed.

Rab took her hand and kissed it gently. "I'm sorry abouy my papa. Sometimes . . . sometimes he drives me out o' my mind. An' I dinna ken how t'forgive him his stupidity."

"'Tis no' yer fault, Rab. Yer papa . . .makes his own choices. An' 'tis he who ought to be ashamed. I dinna blame ye for what he does."

"Then I thank ye for yer understanding. Till the morrow, dearie."

Then he withdrew, leaving Belle to gaze after him with something akin to longing, the heat of his lips still lingering on her wrist, filling her with an odd burning sensation. She sighed and cuddled with Rumple, whose soothing purring soon caused her to begin to drift off, and as she did so, she realized that in a way she had followed the teachings of the devotional she had read that morning. _A gentle answer turneth away wrath._ Not that she had been particularly quiet when she had ordered her brawling clansmen to stop fighting, but she had managed to stay calm during the crisis, and not answer violence with violence. As had Rab.

She smiled. They were more alike than she thought. Perhaps, just perhaps, this marriage would not be the prison she had feared after all, and Rab was not the beast he could have been, nor the domineering arrogant man so many warriors were. Though she felt sorry for her husband for having such a father. Then she worried that she too would have to deal with Malcolm's drunken behavior. However there was little to be done about it now. She snuggled deeper into the covers and allowed Rumple's purring to send her off into dreamland.

On the opposite side of the corridor, Rab crawled into bed after tending to Neal's cheek and was soon fast asleep, disregarding his brother's faint snores and the bulk of the white collie curled by their feet atop the blankets.

 **A/N: So who thinks Malcolm is in for a rude awakening tomorrow morning?**

 **A note on Scottish terms—gillie—a male attendant or servant upon a laird. Sgian dubh—a Scottish dirk. Once the kilt came into prominence, which was not until later in the 16th century, this small knife was worn tucked into a Highlander's sock or boot. Prior to this however it was worn wherever the person felt it was easiest to get to, such as a belt or a sheath on the thigh for women.**

 **Tierce and Prime are canonical hours of prayer—and how medieval people told time, since everyone knew the offices, though not everyone observed the prayer hours. Prime was 6AM and Tierce 9AM, respectively. Thus Rab's tentative departure time was around 8AM.**


	6. Ultimatums and Arrivals

**6**

 **Ultimatums & Arrivals**

Rab woke up early the next morning, since he was not plagued by a sore head like many of his clansmen, including his father. He had just broken his fast with a Spartan diet of a soft-boiled egg, cheese, and porridge with honey, apples, and cinnamon in it, along with a cup of strong tea, when a knock came at his chamber door, making Winter wake up and give a token whuff, and thus wake Neal also. "Dr. Rab?" called Duncan, one of his father's gillies. "Be ye awake yet, sir? Yer da's a'callin' for ye."

"Come," Rab called.

The tall Highlander entered the room and stood there looking rather uncomfortable, his hands twisting the folds of his plaid like a nervous maiden smoothing her skirts out. "I dinna mean t' wake ye, sir, but . . .yer da ordered me t' fetch ye as soon as I could."

Rab looked up from drinking a swallow of his tea. "Let me guess, Duncan. He wants one o' my cures for a sore head an' belly, aye?"

The gillie nodded. "Aye, that be the way o' it, sir."

"Humph!" Rab snorted. "I'll be along as soon as I've eaten." He deliberately picked up his spoon and ate some of his remaining oatmeal. "Ye tell him t' drink water an' no small beer or mead if he's been sick, ye ken?"

"Aye, but he isna gonna like that," muttered Duncan.

"I dinna care what he likes," Rab said bluntly. " _I'm_ the doctor, no' him. An' if he gives ye a hard time, I'll deal wi' it." Familiar with how surly—and whiney—his father could be after an evening spent drinking himself senseless, Rab was not minded to be sympathetic this morning after last night's debacle.

Duncan bowed and retreated. As he shut the door, Neal sat up, yawning. "Are ye gonna gi' him sommat, Rab?"

"I willna. What I am gonna do is have a wee talk wi' him instead," Rab replied, his voice just shy of angry. "Since no one else will tell him what he's done last night, I will."

Neal's eyes widened. "Be ye not afraid o' what he'll do?"

Rab barked a laugh. "Nay. I'm no' a child, t' be intimidated by his bellowing an' his hand any longer. This time, I'm no' gonna let his stupidity go like I did at home. Since Mama passed, he's gotten worse n' worse wi' his drinking an' so forth. And this time, it's enough." He resumed eating, finishing his breakfast some five minutes later. "Get dressed, dearie. If I can, I'm gonna have all those griping clansmen o' ours ready t'go by Tierce or a half an hour later. E'en if I hae tae dump freezing water o'er the lot o 'em!"

With that, Rab rose and went out of his chamber and down the hall to the one assigned to his parent.

His stomach roiled unpleasantly with nerves, for he disliked intense confrontations of this nature, though what he had said was true. He was not intimidated or frightened of his father. He knew quite well Malcolm was dependant on him to ease his suffering and he intended to use that as bargaining chip in their discussion, as well as few other things.

He knew they should have had a talk like this years ago, but somehow, he had always put it off, hoping things might change, but it was not to be. God knew Rab had done his best to be a good son and honor his father like the Good Book said. But Malcolm had made that task well nigh impossible with his behavior, and now something must be done about it. He just wished his mother were here, but then he suspected if she were, his papa would not be as he was now.

 _Blast it, Papa! Ye were never like this when she was alive! An' we all miss her, no' just ye!_

His jaw firming, he opened the door to his father's guest chamber.

Malcolm was sprawled in a chair beside the window, a wooden cup with what Rab hoped was water beside his hand. The Carlyle chieftain looked slightly green, his eyes bloodshot, nose red and puffy, his hair sticking up. He was wearing the same clothing he had been in last night.

Rab wrinkled his nose slightly at the stale smell that greeted his nostrils, most of it coming from the chamber pot under the table.

"Rab! Ye took yer sweet time coomin', laddie!" Malcolm groused. "I be dyin' an' ye dinna hurry yer arse t'see what's the matter?"

Rab gave him an icy glance of disapproval. "Ye're no' dyin', Papa, an' we both ken it. 'Tis the same sickness everyone gets after a night o' indulging in too much whiskey an' stupidity," he said bluntly.

Malcolm winced and held his aching head, which felt like pickaxes were stabbing him. "Dinna shout, laddie. Me head's about tae fall off as it is."

Rab moderated his tone slightly. "I doubt that. Though ye wish it would."

"Ye're a hardhearted pain in the arse, Raibeart Carlyle!" moaned the ill chieftain. "I be sufferin' wi' some dreadful malady an' ask ye fer somethin' tae soothe ma griping belly an' ye come here empty handed— is this the regard ye show yer laird, laddie?"

Rab gritted his teeth and shut the door. "Aye, sir, especially when yer dreaded malady is from yer own doin'. An' when ye broke yer promise wi' me last night, among other things. Or d'ye no' recall what went on last night, Papa? Has the drink still pickled yer wits?"

"Dinna ye take that tone wi' me, lad!" Malcolm interjected. "I'm still yer papa!"

"Aye, more's the pity!" Rab snapped.

Malcolm gaped at him. "Ye dinna mean that, Rab! How could ye say—"

"How could I say that?" his son demanded, stalking over to the bed and sitting on it. "I'm sayin' it because somebody has to! An' Mama's no' here t' tell ye what an arse ye been makin' o' yerself, so I hae to!"

"Now ye listen here, ye wretched impudent—" began his father angrily.

Rab slammed his hand down on the table. "Nay! _Ye_ quit yer bletherin' an' listen tae _me_ for once!" His eyes blazed with frustrated fury. "D'ye think I want t' do this? T' ride herd on ye like some sheepdog wi' a black sheep? Well, I dinna, Papa! I hae better things t' do, like assist my wife wi' her packing an' all."

"Then why do ye no' do that an' leave me in peace?" Malcolm griped.

"Because I hae been doin' it, an' it hae no' done a damned thing except make things worse!" Rab cried, running his fingers through his hair. "Do ye no' ken what happened last night?"

"I . . .I . . . err . . ." Malcolm stammered, trying to recall what his son was talking about. " . . . there was a game . . ."

"Aye, and ye were wagerin' an' drinkin' yerself into oblivion as usual. Only this time b'fore ye passed out, ye insulted a lady, Papa! Ye treated Lady Margaret's own cousin like a common tavern wench!" Rab declared angrily, and told his father exactly what had gone on. "Ye could've started the whole bloody feud up again . . .an' all because ye cannae control yer mouth when yer drunk! Have ye any idea how that looks, Papa? Mama's probably turnin' in her grave! Or gettin' ready to haunt ye!"

Malcolm had the grace to look ashamed and alarmed. Then he whined, "Rab, ye dinna ken that I canna help myself when I start wagerin', 'tis only natural for a fella t' hae a drink when he plays—"

"Aye, I ken it," Rab interrupted before his father could start his self-pitying mode. "'Tis what ye've done ever since Mama died."

His father scowled at Rab's semi-judgmental tone. "But ye dinna ken how the drink helps me."

"Helps ye tae do what?" his son demanded exasperatedly. "Embarrass yerself an' yer family? Forget what an arse ye act like? Treat yer son like a set o' pells?"

"I never—"

"Aye ye have, an' more n' once!" Rab snarled, his fists clenched. "An' ye dinna even remember doin' half o' it. Why, Papa? Explain it tae me. Because I dinna ken why a damned bottle o' whiskey is more important to ye than yer clan an' family. It never was before Mama passed on."

Malcolm heaved a sigh and said softly, "No, ye wouldna, since yer mama was there tae fill the emptiness in my heart. Before yer mama came into my life, I was beset with . . .expectations from my papa, yer grandfather, Alexander, whom ye were named after. An' . . .I hae never been good wi' expectations, Rabbie. I ken that. I fret an' get in a pother an' then I need t' blow off some steam by doin' somethin' silly—like takin' wagers or drinkin' or fightin' when I was younger. Yer grandfather was none too pleased wi' me, I fear. It seemed I couldna do anything right."

Rab felt a stab of irony upon hearing that. He almost said aloud, _That sounds familiar, Papa, since it's how ye always made me feel since Jamie was killed. Only I never did anything to disgrace myself or my family like ye did. Unless ye count not being a warrior and becoming a healer a disgrace. Or not being like my sainted brother Jamie._ Rab had never known his grandsire since Alexander had died before he was born. But he kept silent, not wishing to interrupt his father's narrative. Malcolm was notoriously reluctant to discuss his childhood or shortcoming with his son, in fact Rab couldn't recall when he had ever done so, therefore this was a very rare opportunity.

"But when I was introduced tae yer mama, who was at a midsummer festival, she was the daughter of a Campbell constable, and a suitable match for me, I fell in love with her after we hae met several times, and found that she was willing to see past my flaws and to love me also. She agreed to marry me and I made a vow to be a good husband to her an' I never broke that vow. I never looked at another woman till she was gone . . .and then I only did so because . . .I thought it would help me forget her loss. Only I hae never found any woman who did."

"I dinna think ye e'er will," Rab sighed, feeling sudden compassion for he too had loved Ceri Carlyle. "She was one o' a kind, Papa." He paused before he commented, "Is that also why ye gamble an' drink so much?"

"Mostly, aye. I gave most o' that up when yer mama was alive. I . . .I didn't need tae do such with yer mama around. She provided all I needed to hae fun and relax. I sometimes indulged myself, but . . ." He shrugged. He spread his hands. "I ken I'm no' a man like my father . . .dedicated and able to find his pleasure in books and such things. I've always liked my pleasures o' the flesh. Ye are more like yer grandfather than ye know, Rab. An' yer mama. Ye got his sense o' duty and stubbornness an' her brains and compassion. I fear the only things ye got from me were yer looks and temper."

"And my quick tongue," Rab added, then said, "Was that why ye preferred Jamie over me?"

"I . . .suppose it would seem that way to ye . . . but yer brother was much like I was . . .and when I lost him an' then yer mama . . .something died in me, Rab. Like a snuffed candle, I couldna bring myself tae care about anything—not my clan, not my duty, nor even my sons. There was this . . . hole where they used tae be . . .a hole I thought the drink and gaming would fill . . ." he trailed off, looking suddenly weighted down with loss.

Rab paused before answering, for this was not a side of his papa he had ever known existed. For long moments he was at a loss for words.

Finally he replied. "So . . .then ye really dinna wish it were me gone instead o' Jamie?" For he had always felt that way since his brother's death, that he were competing with a ghost and he would never measure up in Malcolm's eyes.

The older man looked somewhat shocked. "Is that what ye think? I . . . wish that yer brother dinna die, aye, I will always wish that . . .but I wouldna wish ye dead, Rab, in his place. 'Tis a terrible thing for a man to bury his child before him. Any o' his children. Why would ye think so?"

"Because ye, like yer father, have always made me feel like I was nae good enough," his son cried, anguished. "Me or Neal."

"I . . .dinna think . . ." Then Malcolm shook his head. "Yer mama always did say I tended to favor Jamie o'er ye . . .but I never kenned . . .or mayhap I never wanted to think I was . . .more like my papa than I thought," the other admitted reluctantly. "I . . . hae done ye a disservice laddie . . .an' for that I am sorry . . ." One thing he dared not admit to his son was that Rab's keen mind had always intimidated him, for he felt his son were much brighter than he was, with all his learning and degrees as a lawyer and a doctor.

Rab was astonished, for he had never expected his papa to ever admit he was right. "Then I forgive ye. But . . .Papa, ye must do something about yer drinking. 'Tis no' healthy for ye . . .for yer mind or yer body. Or yer spirit. An' surely ye can see that it doesna fill that space in yer heart. In fact, I think it makes it worse."

"Well, I dinna think so!" Malcolm argued. "Dinna ye ken it helps me forget?"

"Papa, I dinna think ye need to forget, I think ye need to remember," Rab argued. "Remember what ye were before Mama died. Because the drink turns ye into someone I do no' ken . . .or want to. Ye never would ha behaved so when Mama was alive last night. Nor would ye treat Neal as ye hae been doing."

"What's Neal hae to do wi' this?"

"Everything," Rab cried. "Or do y no' recall ye hit him hard enough t' leave a bruise on his cheek—for nothin' more than suggesting ye go back to yer game an' leave the lady be?"

"He was being impudent!" Malcolm protested, for his recollection was hazy.

"Nay, he was tryin' to save ye from making a verra bad mistake," Rab refuted. "An' ye hurt him for it. Just as ye hae other times—by ignoring him or scolding him or whipping him o'er things ye never would hae when Jamie an' I were lads."

"I . . .I punished ye both," his father began.

"Aye, but no' the way ye do Neal," objected the doctor. "An' Jamie an' I were worse scamps than Neal ever was an' ye hardly ever cuffed us or took us across yer knee. Or do ye no' recall the time Jamie nearly got killed playin' matador wi' a red plaid wi' our bull . . .nearly drownin' tryin' t' catch that salmon . . .gettin' lost in the woods tryin' t' find the ghost boar . . .an' me followin' him like some tagalong," Rab admitted, for when he was a lad he had worshipped his older brother.

"He were a braw scamp, yer brother was," Malcolm admitted, his eyes shining.

"Aye, but Papa, my point is we did things far more reckless an' foolish an' ye never were as hard on us as ye are on Neal," Rab continued. "An' most times when ye do punish him, ye're drunk . . .an' the drink brings out the worst in ye . . .ye quarrel o'er everything an' ye have the temper o' a wildcat wi' a thorn in it's paw an' ye take it out on anyone around ye."

"Surely ye are stretchin' the truth a wee bit, Rabbie . . ."

"Nay, Papa! Ye dinna even recall what ye did, an' ye canna keep pretending what ye do when ye're in yer cups is right, because it's no'. I've seen it . . .an' so hae others, but no one save me is willin' to tell ye the truth." He gazed earnestly at his father. "An' the truth is ye act like a tyrant when ye're drunk an' ye've punished Neal unfairly an' the lad kens it. Ye've hurt him more n' once an' he doesna trust ye, Papa. When we were lads, ye used to do things wi' Jamie an' me-fishing, hunting, riding, playing draughts. Ye do none o' that wi' Neal. All he sees is a father who drinks, games, an' wenches, an' doesna care about him unless it's t' scold him for somethin'. An' if ye keep on like ye are, ye're gonna make him hate ye. Is that what ye want?"

Malcolm flinched at the harsh words. He didn't want to hear them, didn't want to admit that he couldn't remember half the time what he had done when he was drunk, or that his actions were worse than he recalled. But he remembered how Neal always seemed wary around him, never staying long in his presence. The boy barely spoke to him, and unlike Jamie, he couldn't recall the last time he had spent time with him, mussed his hair or teased him. It was then that he realized he barely knew his youngest son.

He could almost hear his wife's voice saying, "Malcolm, dearie, ye're a prize idiot sometimes, but I still love ye . . .now figure out a way t'fix the mistakes ye made now that ye ken what they are. Because it's never too late t' say I'm sorry an' t' begin again."

He had loved his wife dearly, she had been the rudder that had anchored him and steered his course. Without her, he had drifted and gone astray. And Rab was right, much as he hated to admit it. Ceri would have torn strips from him if she could see how he had been acting since she was gone. In fact, he wasn't so sure she couldn't see, even from on high, and he crossed himself and thought, _May God forgive me, an' ye too, my bonny Ceri. But I dinna ken how t'fix this._

"What . . .what can I do, Rab, t' fix this?" he asked, for oddly enough he found he trusted his son to give him sound advice, for Rab was very like his mother in that regard.

"Ye must do a few things, an' none o' them will be easy," Rab informed him. "First, ye must apologize t' Lady Beatrice for yer poor conduct last eve. An' to Neal also. Then ye must set yer mind to stop turnin' t' the bottle for help. An' . . .mayhap try and find a woman ye'd be willing t' marry instead o' chasin' everything in skirts. Or if ye dinna want to do that . . .be more discreet wi' yer affairs. That'll do for a start."

"I can do the first one . . . an' the third even because truth is, none o' those lasses really made me happy . . .but I dinna know about the second one . . ." Malcolm began hesitantly.

"Papa, I ken ye dinna think much o' me because I'm no' the warrior that Jamie was, but I need ye to trust me when I say ye can learn to do wi'out the whiskey. It'll no' be easy, ye're gonna need help, but I can help ye—if ye're willing to let me."

"How? Do ye hae' some potion t' stop me from drinkin'?"

"Nay. Only ye can do that. But I can help ye in other ways. Because as a doctor I will tell ye if ye don't quit abusin' yer body, it's gonna kill ye, as sure as the plague or the black wound rot. So . . .if ye wish to be around to play wi' yer grandchildren, dearie, ye'll heed what I tell ye." He prayed that final bit of advice would tip the scales.

"Oh, come now, lad, yer not serious! Everyone drinks a pint now an' again, even ye!" Malcolm scoffed.

"Aye, but not like ye do, Papa. Ye drink more than that . . .and anything ye do t' excess does more harm than good. Trust me. I dinna go to university for nothing." Rab persuaded. His papa was stubborn as ten mules, but Rab had his gift for persuasion. He just hoped it worked on his father.

Malcolm heaved a sigh, for he was sure he wouldn't like what his son was about to tell him. "Verra well then. What d'ye suggest?"

Rab thought about it for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure what he proposed would work, but for the moment he had no better ideas. His mentor, Dr. Azhir had dealt with few cases of addiction to poppy and some other strange drugs in his homeland, though not alcohol, for his religion prohibited it. Still from what his mentor had described of the treatment to wean one off opiates, Rab assumed a similar process would work for whiskey. "I propose ye cut yerself off completely from whiskey, Papa, as soon as ye make up yer mind t' do so. I mean no more of it . . . or any type of alcohol."

Malcolm's eyes bugged out. "Aww, lad, ye cannae mean _everything._ No ale?"

Rab shook his head.

"How about mead?"

"Nay."

"Wine?"

"Nay t' that also."

"Brandy? Rum? Cider?" Malcolm pressed, desperate.

"Nay. Ye must no' let a drop o' alcohol past yer lips if ye are to gain control over yer drinkin'," the doctor replied.

"But-but _Rabbie!_ " the laird sputtered. "What in the hell am I gonna drink? Milk?"

His son chuckled. "Nay, I willna make ye suffer that. But ye can drink cold water . . . infused wi' fruit juice . . .mayhap from oranges an' lemons, if I can get 'em, or strawberries. Apple cider— _wi'out_ liquor. Tea an' a new drink I hear the Spanish invented called chocolate."

Malcolm was horrified. "But what about feast days? Am I no' to hae' me tot o' rum? Or a wee dram o' whiskey?"

"Nay. Ye drink one dram, Papa, an' all yer har work is for naught."

"But how does a man live wi' out whiskey?" the chieftain cried, cringing. "'Tis impossible!"

"Nay, 'tis no'," argued his son. "The Saracens do it all their lives. 'Tis part o' their religion."

"They're heathens!" Malcolm objected.

"Aye, but no' drunkards. They drink many other concoctions—like pear cider an' something they call _kaffee._ " Rab informed him. He would have to write to his old mentor and ask him about alternatives to alcohol.

Malcolm threw up his hands. "First ye want me t' swear off lasses an' now ye make me into a heathen Saracen! What's next?"

"Papa! I never said ye couldn't . . .that ye had t' be like a priest," objected Rab. "Jus' that ye shouldna parade yer women like some prizes in the hall in front o' everyone—like Neal. As for the other . . .ye must find other things than the whiskey t' occupy yer mind an' body."

"Like what?"

"Well, ye used t' enjoy fishing an' hunting. Even riding an' hawking. Ye can do those things again. Archery, some weapons practice. How about chess an' something like that? Ye can still play cards, though I wouldna do so where others drink at first, since ye willna be able to resist the temptation. I think . . .I think it might be best if ye . . .went on a retreat . . .sort of like the monks do."

"W- _What?"_

His father's eyes were round as pearls.

"Aye," Rab continued, actually enjoying himself, since he rarely got the chance to give his papa orders and know the orders would be obeyed. Or so he hoped. "I think for a month or two ye need to seclude yerself, wi' Father Bryce. An' meditate an' sweat the spirits out o' ye. By plain livin' and exercise."

"Ye canna be serious, Rab!"

"Aye, I am, Papa. 'Tis the only way ye can get better. But," he leveled a finger at his father. "Ye hae' to intend to really do this. Ye hae' to feel it here—" he put a hand over his heart. The he put his other hand on his head. "An' want it here. In yer heart an' in yer mind. Otherwise, it willna work."

Malcolm was silent for a long while, mulling it over. "Rab . . .I dinna know if this will work . . .if I can make it work . . .I hae never been a strong man . . . yer mother was my strength an' now she's gone . . ."

Rab went and offered his hand. "I'll make a deal wi' ye, Papa. Ye try this method for a month, an' see if by the end o' it ye dinna feel better. Stronger, faster, more capable, full o' energy. Yer able to be happy an' no' angry any more. That ye like to do more things besides game, an' wench, an' drink. That ye feel good. An' I'll help ye as much as I can. Ye willna be alone. I'll be there an' so will Father Bryce. And if ye dinna feel better, then ye can go back to drinkin'. But I think after two weeks ye'll start to feel better an' ye won't need what's at the bottom of a cask. Well? Hae we got a deal?"

Malcolm hesitated, then he clasped it. "Aye, we do. An' ye run Carlyle in my stead while I do this—retreat. I'll speak wi' Father Bryce when we get home."

Rab nodded, a profound sense of relief sweeping through him. He felt at long last that he had finally done something worthwhile regarding his father, and most of the frustration he had felt last night vanished. "Now that's settled, I believe ye owe Neal an' Lady Beatrice an apology."

"Aye. Send Neal in here t' me, will ye?"

"I will." Rab agreed, then he went to fetch his brother.

Neal was woken both to his brother shaking his shoulder and Winter licking his face. Groaning, he opened his eyes and shoved the collie's inquisitive nose aside. "Away wi' ye, ye annoying beastie!" he growled at his pet. He eyed Rab with dislike too. "Why's morning hae' tae come so early?"

Undaunted, Winter tugged the blankets off his master while Rab laughed.

"Hey! Ye wretched animal!" Neal yelped and tried to snatch the covers back from the canny dog.

But the dog danced backwards and Neal sat up, his hair falling in his eyes. "I'm sorry I ever taught ye that trick," he muttered, shaking a finger at the unrepentant dog.

Rab grinned. "C'mon, slugabed. Ye need to get up, Papa wants t' see ye before breakfast."

"Why?" Neal asked with growing dread. He wondered if Malcolm was still angry with him from last night.

"Because he has something he wishes t' say to ye," Rab said obliquely.

"But what about Winter? I need to walk him." The boy objected, trying to put off the summons as long as possible.

Rab understood, but he also knew that Malcolm's resolve might not last all that long, so he said, "Dinna fash yerself, I'll walk him an' wake the men below. Now go t' him, I've already been to speak wi' him, an' he's no gonna hurt ye."

At his brother's urging, Neal went, and Rab took the leash from the wall and clipped it on the dog's collar, then took the dog with him down to the hall to rouse his men.

By the time he had completed both tasks and was back upstairs, Theo and Brodie had begun packing their belongings. Rab lingered outside Malcolm's door, praying that his father would finally admit to his shortcomings and find some common ground with the boy.

The door opened and Neal emerged, looking somewhat dazed. "Rab, he—he told me he was sorry for hitting me," he gasped. "He's never . . .done that before. Then he—he wanted me t' go fishing wi' him. He hae never done that either."

"That's a good thing, Neal. Perhaps he's finally realizin' what he's been missing all these years," Rab acknowledged, smiling. "Ye know, I used tae go fishin' wi' him a lot when I was a lad. Me an' Jamie."

"Aye, an' I ken about the time ye an' Jamie tipped the boat over in the loch fightin' over whose fish was bigger!" Neal chortled. He gave Rab a sassy smirk before he headed downstairs to breakfast.

Rab breathed a sigh of heartfelt thanks to the Lord for answering his prayers. His mouth twitched in an involuntary grin as he recalled the incident Neal had spoken of, when Jamie had been twelve and he nine. Back when he had hero worshipped his golden elder brother and Malcolm had not been bitter, drunk, and filled with despair and anger. Back when they had been a regular family, when Ceri was alive and they were full of love, laughter, and mischief. How times had changed, he mourned sadly. But perhaps, just perhaps, he could return to those days, in a fashion, now that Belle was mistress of Carlyle. The keep had lacked a woman's touch, and gentleness, but no longer. God willing, the Carlyle servants would take to their new mistress and make the keep a happy home once more.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle was assisted in getting dressed by Alanna and Margery that morning, and Missus Potts went to fetch her breakfast, and also some leftover chicken for Rumple. The crumple-eared kitten kept getting underfoot as the maids packed, scampering back and forth from beneath the bed to under a chair and the table and seizing the lasses ankles and play biting them till they scolded and shooed him away.

The kitten was in full play crazy mode this morn, racing about the room like a herd full of stampeding cattle, his little back arched and tail curved, hopping onto Belle's slippers and biting them, and then springing up and running under the bed to ambush the bed hangings.

Belle dangled her hair ribbon for him to bat and attack, trying to keep the mischievous feline out of the maids' way, giggling when he snatched the mint green and red plaid ribbon and bit and growled at it. "Aye, ye'll be a fine mouser someday, ye wee imp," she crooned and shook the ribbon, making Rumple leap into the air to grab it again.

"Scamp!" Missus Potts laughed as the kitten made a mad dash for the trailing strings of her apron.

But Rumple quit capering like a mad dervish when she set the bowl containing the chicken and another of water down, and then served her mistress her own breakfast of hot porridge with cream, walnuts, dried fruit and a bit of sugar, as well as tea and some bacon. "Eat, milady," the elderly servant ordered. "Ye'll need sommat hot in ye afore ye go in the cart t' yer new home."

Of her personal maids, only Missus Potts was coming with her to Carlyle, Belle determining that out of them all, she had the most experience and would not be a target for any man's hands and amorous intentions, given how some of the Carlyle clansmen behaved—like her father-in-law.

She had some misgivings about leaving her home, but there was naught to be done about it. A wife's place was with her husband in his home, and she would not disgrace her family or herself by being some shrinking violet who had the vapors whenever something became difficult. She would show these Carlyles she had steel in her spine, despite her reputation as an animal healer. She ate along with her kitten, then smiled as the intrepid beast jumped on her lap and kneaded her thigh while Missus Potts combed out her hair and plaited it.

Belle wore a green plaid kirtle and an Argyll sock on one foot as well as her sturdy shoe, a cashmere shawl with her clan brooch on it about her shoulders. Rab had not come by yet this morning to inquire about how she was doing, but Missus Potts informed her he was busy seeing to the men of his clan and making sure all was ready for their departure.

She finished her porridge, then drank the medicinal tea Rab had instructed she take after eating, to dull the throbbing in her broken ankle so she could travel easier.

There came a tap at the door, and then Neal poked his head in saying, "Is it all right for me to come in, Lady Belle? I . . .umm . . .I brought ye something t' help ye walk easier."

"Of course, Neal." She said, smiling gently at him. On her lap, Rumple opened one eye lazily, then went back to purring and napping, not bothered by Neal, since he knew the boy well.

The boy came in carrying what looked like two sticks, then she saw that they were crutches, only much better made ones than the stick she had been using. These were forked at the top and had a shorter length lashed across the top and it was padded with sheepskin. There was even a small grip for her hands, also padded with some blue plaid cloth wrapped about more wool batting. The bottom of the crutches was "shod" with leather so they gripped surfaces better.

Belle stared in amazement, then cried, "Why Neal! Those are verra fine! Where did ye find them?"

The boy ducked his head, looking embarrassed. "Err . . .I dinna find them . . . I _made_ them. Wi' a wee bit o' help from Martin Fletcher, who makes arrows for all the warriors at Carlyle. He helped me with the leather and the top, making it fast. I . . .figgered ye could use something more comfortable to walk wi around the keep when ye get there. See, I padded the top so it willna poke yer arms an' make 'em sore, an' likewise wi' the grips for your hands . . ."

"They're wonderful, Neal!" Belle told him seriously. "I've never seen crutches so fine before! Yer verra talented, lad."

Neal turned the color of a raspberry. "Umm . . . thank ye, milady."

"Belle, please. After all, I'm yer sister now, an' I dinna use titles wi' my family," she corrected gently, then she took the crutches and set them beside her. "I'll use these soon enough t' go downstairs." She frowned at the sleeping Rumple. "Now I need to put my wee kitty in his cat cage. An' I fear isna gonna like it."

"I'll do it," Neal offered, and went and found the little wicker carrier Belle pointed to, and picked up Rumple and put him inside, after laying a small scrap of plaid inside first. The kitten mewed angrily, but couldn't get free, sticking his small paws through the wicker slats.

"Oh dearie dear!" Missus Potts sighed. "We're gonna be hearin' the poor beastie all the way t' Carlyle, I fear!"

Neal sighed and said, "We're sorry, Rumple, but ye hae' t stay in there while we go back home, since ye're bigger an' canna be trusted to keep still in my pocket like ye did when I first brought ye here."

The kitten meowed irritably.

"What's all the argle-bargle about in here?" asked Rab, finally managing to come upstairs to see his wife.

"Och, Rab, 'tis just Rumple, makin' a fuss because he's in the wicker carrier," Belle said.

"Poor wee mite!" Rab clucked sympathetically. "I dinna like to be shut up either." He went to examine his patient, asking in his cheery fashion, "An' how does yer leg today, dearie? A wee bit better? Or is it botherin' ye?"

Belle told him truthfully it was much better, as she had taken the tea, and then showed him the crutches Neal had made. "Aren't they brilliant, Rab?"

"Aye, they are verra fine," he agreed."Neal, mayhap ye ought to go into business designing crutches for people."

"Aww, Rab! 'Tis no big deal," Neal blushed again.

"Actually, it is," disagreed his brother. "Yer design is verra clever." He ruffled the boy's hair. "If ye're done eating, Belle, I think we need to go downstairs. My papa's ready t' leave soon."

Belle wiped her face with her napkin and then stood, picking up the crutches. She soon found it was much easier to get around using the new crutches Neal had made, which were just the right height and didn't hurt her arms and hands.

With Neal and Rab escorting her, with Neal carrying the disgruntled Rumple, Belle made her way down the stairs to the great hall.

Malcolm watched as the couple descended the stairs, noting that despite her infirmity, the new Lady Carlyle was a rare beauty, with her heart shaped face, chestnut hair, petite yet curved in all the right places, with indigo eyes the color of a loch at sunset. She exuded warmth and light, reminding the elder Carlyle of his late wife. His eyes shifted to his son, who while not conventionally handsome, drew the eye. Rab's slight stature oft made people overlook him, especially in a crowd of brawny Highlanders, but he had a quiet intensity about him that made one notice him when he spoke, and his bright cognac colored eyes conveyed a myriad of emotions with a single glance. It was a different type of regard than the one Jamie had possessed, the laird mused. Jamie had been like a fire in dry grass, setting everyone alight with his joy of life and his charm. People either loved him or hated him, but even his detractors had been hard pressed not to follow him. Malcolm felt a pang of sorrow when he thought of his son, cut down in that border raid that had also taken the life of the Fraser heir. Much had been lost that day. Rab gestured, emphasizing something to his new bride, and Malcolm thought that, though quieter, Rab's strength was no less compelling. His was the strength of the earth, patient and inexorable, that endured despite all, and Belle complimented this with her quicksilver smile, like water flowing over rock, nourishing and bringing life to all. Perhaps this match would not be the disaster he had feared initially after all.

Then his eyes were drawn away from the couple and to another lady, the tall one with the spun gold hair that had, according to his son, been insulted by him last night and was also the cousin of Lady Margaret. She reminded him of a spirited filly he had once owned, all grace and long legs, and he could see why he had been attracted to her initially. But though she was pretty woman, seeing her now without the haze of alcohol cluttering his senses, Malcolm couldn't help but compare her to Ceri—and found that she came up wanting. Then again, it was that way with every woman. In all of the years since her death, he had never found another to fill the empty space in his heart. Now he doubted if he ever would.

Sighing, he walked over to the young woman, knowing he owed her an apology for his rude uncouth behavior, and knowing better than to break a deal with his son. He might wriggle out of deals with others on occasion, but Rab, like Ceri, demanded forthrightness and honesty, and Malcolm found he didn't want to lose his son's trust.

It seemed all of the Fraser retainers in the keep as well as her immediate family were there to see her off. She hugged and kissed her old servants goodbye and Missus Potts went to stow her small bag in the little trap, which was filled with fragrant hay sprinkled with lavender and covered with a soft green blanket and some pillows. It was drawn by a small chestnut pony, one of the strong small Irish breed, a mare called Sassafras, or Sassy for short.

Rab hung back after bidding his hosts goodbye and receiving wishes of "Godspeed" and a "Safe journey" even though they were merely an hour and a half away. He noted his father speaking with Lady Beatrice, and saw him giving her a look of charming regret and then bowing over her hand and released the breath he'd been holding. Even after their talk upstairs, Rab had been uncertain whether Malcolm would actually follow through on his promise. But this was a promising start. Lady Beatrice looked mollified, and not likely to cause trouble, then again Malcolm, like his eldest son, could charm birds out of trees when he chose. A trait which had gotten him out of hot water more than once, and Rab could recall Jamie as well when he had gotten into scrapes as a boy and adolescent. When faced with parental or adult wrath, Jamie would flatter and cajole his way out of punishment, unlike Rab, who would admit to whatever wrongdoing he'd been caught in and take the consequences without complaint. The doctor smiled ruefully, thinking that as much as he had loved his older brother, he had not been blind to his flaws, and had taken more than his share of blame and punishment as a lad.

He saw his papa signaling the rest of his men to mount up and told Neal to bring their horses around. Neal gave the wicker cat carrier to Missus Potts and dashed off.

All too soon, Belle found herself being escorted to the small wain, and then helped inside by two of her father's big servants, with Rumple meowing piteously in the carrier beside her. Missus Potts rode with her, making sure she did not jar her leg too badly, and one of the Carlyle gillies, Theo, drove the cart.

Rab rode alongside her, giving Belle time to admire his graceful mare with her sleek lines and pretty dished face and huge liquid eyes. Auriel looked like she could race the wind and win. Then her eyes shifted to the man atop the mare and she couldn't help admiring his seat on the horse, and thinking that not all men rode as well as he did, as if he were part of the mare, and her mouth went dry as she recalled her mother's advice to her about the wedding night and how her husband would ride his horse into her stable. Oddly enough, what had terrified her before now only filled her with an unnamed longing and a bit of nervousness, and she wondered curiously if she would enjoy Rab making love to her. She supposed she might, though with her ankle broken that would have to wait.

Just then an irritated frightened meow broke into her reverie, and she turned to soothe her kitten as best she could, counting it lucky the drive was not a long one, for even thought Theo was careful and the cart cushioned, the rattling sometimes jarred her bad leg and made her wince.

By the time the little cart was turning down the road to the keep and clattering across the drawbridge, Belle felt as if her leg had been pounded by sledgehammers and had gone deaf from Rumple's angry litany of complaints, as he had not ceased meowing since being put in the carrier, and only Rab and Neal were brave enough to ride near the wagon and endure the kitten's soulful wailing.

Belle's first glimpse of Carlyle keep, which was on a hill, and partially wreathed in mist, tendrils obscuring the mossy gray stone from view on one side and the turrets and battlements vanishing with the shifting fog, made it seem almost unreal, as if it were half in this world and half in the world of the fae. It made her recall the tales of her childhood about the Seelie Sidhe and Endless Mist and gave her an almost surreal feeling.

But it was beautiful too, surrounded as it was by meadows dotted with heather and other wildflowers, in the distance she could see the whitewash and thatch of several cottages clustered together and a herd of sheep behind a low stone wall.

As they crossed into the bailey, several people came out to meet them and assist with leading the horses into the stable. Neal hopped down from his gelding and gave Dancer's reins to one of the grooms. Then he approached the cart and said to Belle, "Let me take the wee kitty for now, Belle. I'll put him in the barn wi' his mama an' brothers an' sisters so he can play for a bit while ye rest."

"Thank ye, Neal," she said, relieved, for she didn't want Rumple to be unhappy and he was quite annoyed right then. "I need to rest an' once ye let him out he's gonna be off like the wind." She handed the carrier to Neal, who made shushing noises as he carried it into the barn.

"That's a good lad," Missus Potts said, approvingly, then climbed down so she could see where they were bringing her mistress's trunks. "I'll see tae yer quarters, milady."

As Missus Potts bustled off, Belle remained where she was in the cart, her crutches beside her, leg throbbing, which was making her nauseous. She leaned her head back against the pillows, willing the sickness to pass.

Rab, who normally would have seen to Auriel himself, as was his preference, handed her off to his head groom, Tobias, and came over to see how Belle was doing. He was aware that despite the precautions, the ride had not been the greatest and was concerned that it might have jarred her leg roughly. He came around the cart and the pallor of her features disturbed him greatly. "Belle, is yer leg paining ye, dearie?" he queried.

"Aye. Rab . . ." she whimpered. "I dinna feel well . . ."

He touched a hand to her forehead, but it was blessedly cool. He saw that she was breathing shallowly, and asked, "Do ye feel like ye're gonna heave?"

She nodded mutely, her indigo eyes begging him to help her, for the last thing she wanted was to puke all over in front of everyone.

Rab suspected that most of that was from anxiety and pain, not any kind of true stomach ailment. He turned and called out to Theo, "Theo, go and fill this cup wi' water from the pump. Haste ye back."

His gillie took the wooden cup he withdrew from his satchel and raced off with it, just as Giles and Morgan, two burly men appeared and asked, "Be ye needin' help wi' the lady, sir?"

"Aye, but bide a wee bit, lads," he ordered. "Right now the lady needs a wee rest, she's feeling a bit poorly." Then he turned back to Belle and said, "I need ye to take a deep breath, dearie. Ye're making yerself lightheaded breathin' that way, like a rabbit in a snare. Breathe, Belle."

"I . . .Rab . . ." she whimpered, feeling the nausea increase.

He gently cupped her chin in his hand. "Belle— _breathe,_ and focus on me. On me, dearie. Good. Now, breathe in, I know it hurts, but ye need to take a breath. Now another, an' another. That's it." His other hand tilted her slightly, and rubbed her back. "Again, dearie. One . . .two . . .three . . ."

"Dr. Rab, I got the water for ye," Theo said, and held out the cup.

"Set it here," Rab indicated a space beside him on the cart tail.

Belle soon found that the repetitive deep breaths calmed her churning stomach somewhat and also made her slight dizziness go away. Her ankle still hurt like hell, but now it seemed more bearable.

"How d' ye feel now?" Rab inquiried, fetching a certain powder from his satchel and mixing it in the water then stirring it with his wooden stirrer.

"A little better. I'm sorry I'm such a burden," she fretted. What must his people think of her?

Rab snorted. "I've had worse patients than ye. Here. I want ye to sip this slowly. Tis something t'calm that achin' belly o' yers."

"What is it?"

"Powdered chamomile an' ginger root," he replied. "Slowly, mind, or else it'll come back up."

She obeyed, slowly sipping the concoction, which tasted pretty good, and seemed to ease her fussy stomach even further. At his urging she took more cleansing breaths, then drank some more, then more breaths, until she had finished the cup. By then her stomach was no longer threatening to crawl out of her throat. She gasped with relief.

"Better?" he asked softly.

"Aye," she handed the cup back to him, her eyes reflecting her gratitude.

"Good." He put the cup back in his satchel. "I'm gonna make ye up a warm posset o' milk an' poppy when ye get to yer room, so ye can rest. Can ye stand? Or shall I have Giles or Morgan carry ye?"

Belle considered. She felt wrung out and weary, but she didn't want to make a bad impression on the Carlyle servants, so she said, "If ye can get me down, Rab, I can walk." Or die trying, she thought determinedly.

"All right." He motioned for the two men to lift her down and held her crutches for her.

As soon as she was upright, she felt worlds better, and Rab gently eased a crutch under her right arm. "There, can ye hold it? An' how about yer other arm?" He had wrapped that one firmly, but didn't know if she should stress the wrist yet.

Belle took the crutches, took two steps before her wrist gave out and she almost fell.

"That's no' gonna work, dearie," Rab shook his head. He removed the crutch, handed it to Theo and put his arm about his wife, supporting her as she walked using one crutch slowly across the bailey and into the hall.

His people were clustered in the hall, and they all cheered, bowed, and curtseyed as they entered.

"To my son, Rab an' his bonny new bride, Mirabelle!" Malcolm cried, raising a goblet. "A toast!"

"To Rab an' Mirabelle!" the servants repeated and clapped, also drinking from their own flasks or cups.

Rab recognized mulled wine, gave Malcolm a warning glare, then said to his hulking shadows. "Will one o' ye help carry Lady Carlyle to our room?"

"Aye, sir," replied the one called Morgan, a beefy fellow with a thatch of dak hair. He picked Belle up effortlessly.

"I'll be along in a few, dearie," Rab called to her, then he turned to the curious onlookers and announced, "My bride broke her ankle recently an' she need to rest, so ye can all meet her after supper."

There were good natured murmurs of assent and several of the men clapped him on the back in congratulations and then Annie, one of the upstairs chambermaids, said, "Is there aught I can do fer Lady Mirabelle, doctor?"

"Aye. Ye can fetch me a goblet o' warmed milk wi' some cinnamon and honey in it an' bring it to our chamber," Rab instructed. He knew he would have to speak with Father Bryce, but right then the chaplain was not visible. Besides, his first concern at the moment was his wife.

When Rab made his way upstairs several minutes later, he found Belle lying on the big feather tester with the curtains drawn back, her foot propped up a bunch of pillows, relaxing with a blanket over her while Missus Potts and Moira directed the younger maids where to put things.

"Yer color looks better, dearie," he said tenderly as he approached her.

"I feel better now," she admitted honestly.

Annie came with the milk and Rab went and mixed a draught of poppy for her and she drank it down.

Rab sat with her and held her hand, saying, "When ye have taken a nap, Belle, then we can introduce ye to the castle staff, but for now, ye need sleep more."

Belle felt a kind of lassitude sweep through her and as the pain in her ankle lessened, she drifted off.

Rab made sure she was sleeping soundly before he went and examined her ankle, thinking it was still slightly swollen, but in a day or two he would be able to make bandages with the special plaster like Azhir had shown him and cast the ankle.

"How did she break her ankle, sir? A fall?" asked Moira, his head housekeeper.

"Nay, a cow kicked her while she was helping it deliver twins," Rab replied. At Moira's startled look he added, "Belle heals animals like I do people, ye ken."

"Aye, how remarkable," was all the housekeeper said, then she bobbed a brief curtsey and left the room.

"She'll sleep for several hours yet," Rab told Missus Potts. "If she wakes an' seems worse or wants me, send someone to find me."

Missu Potts nodded. "Will do, Dr. Carlyle." Then she went to hang another of Belle's dresses in the armoire.

When Rab glanced back at his sleeping wife, just before he headed back downstairs, he saw a furry gold and white dervish dart out from beneath the bed hangings, jump up on the bed, and curl against Belle's arm, rubbing his wee head with the crumpled ears against her and purring.

Rab chuckled at Rumple. "Sleep well, dearies." Then he was gone down the corridor, and so missed the wink Rumple gave before curling into a ball and closing his brilliant green eyes.


	7. Settling In

**6**

 **Settling In**

Rab found Father Bryce, a slender priest wearing a simple cassock of kelly green, his tonsured head shiny with sweat, as it was hot in the chapel with the sun shining through the stained glass windows, polishing the pews with a mixture of lemon oil and rosewater. Rab had known Archibald Bryce all his life, the priest had come to minister the Carlyle household when Malcolm and Ceri were first married, and had then been about twenty-five or so. He was now in his early fifties, but still uncomplaining and cheerful and continuing to minister to his Highland sheep with compassion and understanding. Father Bryce had helped the young man immensely when his mother had died, helping him reconcile his loss, anger, and guilt and learning how to go on and to trust his medical skills and God again. Rab considered him a good friend and the best man he could think of to help Malcolm defeat the demons of whiskey.

"Good morrow, Father," he greeted, smiling at the older man.

"Rab! 'Tis good to see ye, laddie!" Father Bryce said, and put down his rag to give the younger man a hug. "I heard ye had arrived back, but was in the middle of my prayers and so missed ye. How is yer new bride? Is she as bonny and bright as everyone says?"

Rab smiled. "Aye, that she is. I would hae ye meet her, but she is sleeping ye ken, the journey was hard on her, since she broke her ankle." He gave the priest the whole tale while Bryce polished, and after that said gravely, "But that really is no why I came to see ye, Father. The real reason is for my papa."

"Has something happened to Malcolm?"

"Nay, Father. Well, nothin' that hasna happened ten hundred times before," Rab sighed, then he told Bryce about what had gone on at the Frasers. "An' I made a deal wi' him to try this retreat an' free himself o' the whiskey, but . . . I need your help to do it, Father. I canna do it wi' out ye."

Father Bryce actually looked eager. "Rab, that's a wonderful idea. I have been thinking for a long time about tryin' tae get yer father tae see the error o' his ways wi' whiskey, an' yet have never managed it because he avoids me like the plague!" He gave a soft laugh. "But if he has agreed like ye say, that will no be the case now!"

"Then ye think it can work?"

"Aye, it can, if we can keep yer papa distracted while he is learnin' to do wi'out the whiskey," Father Bryce mused. "I think the first week shall be the hardest—nay the first three days—an' then shall get easier forthwith. I shall pray on it and ask God to help me come up wi' some ways tae help Malcolm return tae a state of grace like he was before yer mama passed." Father Bryce held up a finger. "For 'twas then all the trouble started."

"Aye, I ken it," Rab agreed. "I will help ye anyway I can. I need to write my mentor in Edinburgh, ask him for alternatives to the drink. I only ken a few."

"Aye that will be good. Let me know what ye learn. I can get the small cottage ready in a few days in the north pasture by the stream. 'Tis a good spot to fish an' walk an' watch the sheep. Mayhap out beyond the keep, Malcolm can reconnect wi' the Lord. 'Tis always easier tae do so when ye are alone wi' out distractions. For the Lord shall be his staff, I ken. Along wi' ye and me."

"He's goin' t' speak wi' ye soon, I'd wager."

"Good. Then I shall tell him the same as I've told ye, Rab." The priest's blue eyes twinkled. "Now how about a spot of tea wi' blueberry scones an' sweet cream?"

"That would be verra welcome, an' well ye ken it," the younger man chuckled, for he loved that particular treat ever since he was a lad, and the priest knew it.

"Aye, I may be getting' auld, but I still have me memory!" Bryce snickered, and then they walked over to small cottage that was next to the chapel, which had always been where the priests of the household stayed.

Rab could remember many cozy afternoons when the rain beat down on the roof studying for the entrance exams for Edinburgh University in that cottage, beside the peat hearth with the kettle whistling, while Bryce read passages from the Bible.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle slept for several hours thanks to the poppy draught, and when she woke was much refreshed and eager to meet the household staff. She had Missus Potts help her fix her hair and change from her travel gown to something lighter, one of her favorite yellow gowns with a white lace shawl. She was unsure where she ought to meet the staff, especially with her lame foot, and finally decided to have them present themselves in the sitting room off of the bedchamber for now.

She used the crutches Neal had made for her and managed to walk the few feet from her bed to the sitting room and Missus Potts helped her sit down in a wide stuffed chair and prop her foot on a stool.

Wee Rumple darted out of the bedroom and jumped on her lap, sitting and purring like a miniature Sphinx, albeit with crumpled ears.

Belle stroked him, then said, "Missus Potts, would you be so kind as to summon the head housekeeper and ask her to summon the staff for me, so that I might meet them properly?"

"At once, my lady," Missus Potts curtseyed and then went to do as she had requested.

She returned in a few moments, followed by Moira, who was the head housekeeper at the keep, and had been since she had come with her mistress, Ceridwen, when she had married Malcolm. She was a short spare woman in her fifties and had helped her lady birth her three sons and nursed her through her last illness. She was not unhandsome, though she had never married because the man she had loved had been killed by the Frasers during their endless feuding. Her curly dark hair was touched with gray at the temples, though it was difficult to tell beneath her starched white cap. She wore a plain navy blue skirt and cream blouse with an apron over it and a ring of keys jangled at her belt, the sign of her authority here at Carlyle keep.

Moira had frank misgivings about her new mistress, based upon what rumors had brought from the village and also the fact that she was one of the dreaded Frasers who had killed her beloved Kenneth. When she had first laid eyes upon the doctor's wife, she had thought— _aye, she's a bonny filly, but will she hae staying power or just looks?_ The fact that Belle had been injured tending to a cow, of all things, also did not sit well with her. She was also fearful that she would be replaced as head housekeeper by Belle's own maid, Missus Potts. She had been the only woman in authority for years since the passing of her beloved mistress and she resented this interloper, who would probably set the whole place on its ear with her changes instead of running the keep just the way Lady Ceri had always done.

But none of this was apparent in her manner or her appearance. She arrived promptly in the sitting room, curtseyed to Belle, and said, "I'm Miss Moira MacNamara, yer ladyship. The MacNamara's be kin to the Carlyles and hae served them always. I came here thirty years ago with my mistress, Lady Cerdiwen, God assoil her." She automatically crossed herself.

A few minutes later, six other women, two girls, and ten men appeared. The women wore servicable dresses of blue, green or gray with a swatch of Carlyle plaid in a ribbon on their persons, usually about their caps or tied around their waist. Two wore dresses that were like a gentlewoman's outfit, though out of style and obviously made over. Moira introduced them.

"These be the six chambermaids, Lady Mirabelle. Annie, Molly, Elspeth, June, Cattie, and Rhona. Annie is Wardrobe Mistress an' will help ye with yer clothing and keep it tidy. Rhona is good with arranging hair. They will be cleanin' yer rooms and if ye ever need sommat an' I am no around, ye may ring for one o' them. These two are the undermaids, Tessa and Lily. They'll tend to the fire an' make yer bed and empty out the chamberpots, bring the water fer yer pitchers."

The girls, they were about thirteen, and the undermaids, who were anywhere from eighteen to twenty-one, all bobbed respectful curtseys and said, "Welcome, milady."

A tall man wearing a blue jacket with the Carlyle badge upon it and a cream shirt and short breeks came and bowed to her. "Good morrow, yer ladyship. I'm Aiden Bruce, the laird's chamberlain, and these are my lads—Theo, Duncan, and Geordie be the gillies tae the laird Malcolm an' tae Rab, Morgan, Giles, an' young Toby be training tae serve as Master Neal's valet. Then there are Master MacNab the butler and Master Armstrong the pantler, and wee Jamie, his nephew. Laird Malcolm will introduce ye tae the steward William Burns himself and the marshal Connor Stuart. There be more servants belowstairs, an' the cook Missus Carmichael and her staff, the laundry maids an' scullery lasses, but we figgered meetin' us first be enough fer ye tae be getting on with, aye?"

The men and boys, they looked to be about twelve, all bowed to her and greeted her.

"I am pleased to meet all of you. And this is Missus Mary Potts, my lady's maid," Belle introduced her. Then she added, "At home, I'm known as Lady Belle, and would ask you to address me as such." She gave each of them a winsome smile. "This is a lovely keep and I'm sure I will learn my way about soon enough with you to aid me."

"As my lady wishes," Moira said, then she said to her staff, "Well now, lasses, back tae work wi' ye! The keep willna run itself!"

As the women, men, and Master Bruce departed, Belle called to Moira, "Moira, would ye be so kind as to tell me the schedule of the castle and the hours the family keeps so that I might learn their routine?"

"Aye, milady," the housekeeper agreed, because to do less would be insubordinate, but inwardly she stiffened and thought how the new mistress was already planning on changing things. She then responded, "But I think ye ought to ken that Laird Malcolm likes his home run in a certain fashion, as his late wife always did. And he doesna take well to change."

"I see. I will try very hard to accommodate Malcolm and to only altar or improve things which need improvements." Belle said crisply. She understood that there would be resentment from the people she was now to oversee, and she didn't like to step on anyone's toes, but the plain fact was that the keep had been without a mistress for years and Belle was sure that there were things that had not been done that should have been simply because the men had not considered them and the housekeeper had not the authority to see to those tasks.

Moira bowed, and then said, "Would ye like something to eat, milady? Ye must be hungry after such a long nap."

"That would be wonderful," Belle said. She was feeling hungry now that she thought of it. She wondered where Rab was, and as she petted Rumple, she also realized the kitten was probably hungry too. "And would ye please bring up a plate of fish and a saucer of milk, or chicken scraps for my wee kitty? His name is Rumple and my husband gave him to me for a gift."

"Of course, Lady Belle," Moira said, politely. Then she curtseyed again and departed, the keys still on her belt.

She knew she should have turned over most of them to her new mistress, but decided the oversight was for the best right now. If Belle didn't have access to the storerooms and larder she could not police those areas effectively and the running of them would stay, for now, in Moira's hands.

Soon Molly returned with a dish of scraps and some milk for Rumple, who eagerly began to eat and then with a tray for her mistress. "Mistress Moira says for me tae tell ye that the laird be having a feast in the hall this evening to celebrate yer nuptials, milady. At seven o'clock."

"Thank you, Molly. Are any guests going to be there?"

The maid paused. "Not that I heard of. I think 'tis just the family an' those of us here."

Belle breathed a sigh of relief. Having to entertain guests would have taxed her right then. "I see. Send Rhona and Annie up to me an hour before so they can assist me."

"Aye, milady," Molly said then hurried away, leaving Belle to eat and peruse the list Moira had sent up with her.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

After Rab had visited with Father Bryce, he then went and made the rounds of the tenants with Malcolm and their steward, William Burns. By that time he and his father went in to dine in the hall for dinner. Belle was still asleep, so afterwards, while Malcolm went to speak with Father Bryce, Rab went to his workroom and studied his various salves and concoctions, seeing which herbs he needed to gather and grind up and mix, and also look up the recipe for the plaster strips he wanted to cast Belle's foot with.

He had to go into the village to procure a few items from the apothecary, and while there, as often happened, some villagers needed his medical skills. He spent two hours before the celebration supper tending to a workman's cut hand and stitching it, giving a pregnant woman a tea of chamomile and ginger for her morning sickness, soothing a small child's stomach troubles with a tea of peppermint and some dandelion extract which helped digestion and diarrhea, giving an elderly man with rheumatism an oil to rub on his aching legs, and popping a carter's shoulder back into place and then proscribing some willow bark tea.

That left him barely enough time to go upstairs and change before dinner. His gillie, Theo had laid out his supper clothes, and Belle was already in the hall being seated beside Malcolm, so Rab only had to wash up and put his clothes on before hurrying downstairs to be seated at the high table along with Malcolm, Belle, and Neal.

Belle looked up as her husband entered the hall, relieved to see another familiar face besides her father-in-law and brother-in-law. Rab was dressed in a flowing saffron silk shirt with a navy jacket, his Carlyle plaid flowing from his shoulders and black velvet breeches and shiny shoes. He wore a navy blue bonnet with the Carlyle badge and a single peacock feather at a rakish angle on his head, which set off his long brown locks. He had on a wide belt with a purse, his _sgain dubh_ , and a dress sword on it.

Belle flushed as she gazed at him, thinking that he had never appeared so handsome to her or looked more like a laird than he did then.

Their eyes met and she felt a sudden heat travel up from her toes to the crown of her head, which had a chaplet of flowers about her long flowing auburn locks. Since she was yet a virgin, due to her unfortunate injuries, she could and did choose to wear her hair down. The light of the torches and candelabras in the hall brought a rosy glow to her cheeks, as did the naughty thoughts she entertained about her husband.

Rab's cognac colored eyes met those of his bride's as he hurried into the room so the feast could begin, thinking that never had she seemed so ethereally lovely as she did then, reminding him of all the stories his nurse used to tell him about fairy maidens. Her rich auburn locks cascaded down her shoulders to lie enticingly upon her green velvet clad bodice, which had golden cord accenting it and her detachable sleeves swirled down to large cuffs accented with rich golden sable fur. The bodice was stitched with the Scottish thistle in gold thread and had tiny gold accents. Since they were standing awaiting his arrival, Rab got to see the lush skirt of the gown, which had a sweeping silk brocade pattern of more thistles done in gold and the velvet outer skirt flaring out on top of it. She wore a gold chain belt with emeralds, amethysts, and rubies on it and her one foot was shod in a dainty leather slipper.

He found his breath stolen away and he did not reclaim it until he reached the dias, and bowed to his lord father and said, "My apologies, Papa. I had patients unexpectedly in the village."

Malcolm, who had a goblet of claret in his hand, said, "Aye, 'twas what I figgered. No matter now." He clapped his hands. "Let the feast begin!"

Cheers rose from further down the hall and servers brought in the first course.

Now that the other half of the handfasted couple was there, everyone was seated, with Rab holding Belle's chair for her as she sat down, her crutches leaning unobtrusively behind her against the wall with the banners and coat of arms. "Ye look stunning, like a fairy queen at a midsummer revel," he whispered in her ear.

She didn't know how she could color even more, but she managed it, and her indigo eyes sparkled like gems in the firelight as she said, "Ye are too kind, my laird husband. Allow me to return the favor and say that out of all the men in this room tonight, ye fair take my breath away, ye look like a warrior out of the ancient tales, like Fingal the great warrior, poet, and magician who drove the Lochlainn from Innisfail and Morven." She whispered, her hand reaching out to clasp his in welcome.

He chuckled. "Me, like Fingal? Ah, dearie, 'tis no small honor you do me, who is a simple doctor, lawyer, and tanist." He bowed over her hand and kissed it. He was touched by her regard, especially because he had never considered himself in the same class as his handsome rascal of a brother Jamie. All the lasses had loved his brother.

Then he went and sat down on the other side of Malcolm, across from his bride, and the laird lifted his cup in a toast, saying loudly, "Here's to my son, Rab, tanist o' Carlyle, and to his bonny bride Belle. May they hae a long union, prosperous an' loving wi' many bairns and may God bless them forever!"

They all raised their glasses in a toast, shouting the names of their new mistress and master and drank. The first course was a hearty Scotch broth with barley, leeks, and tender beef, accompanied by heather ale and manchet bread for the nobles, plain wheat for everyone else.

Rab was pleased to note that Belle seemed to have regained her appetite, and ate her soup eagerly, not turning up her nose at what some might regard as peasant fare. He ate his own portion happily, only turning once to elbow Neal in the ribs and hiss, "Dinna slurp, ye scamp!"

His brother smirked and said, "Oh just eat yer own food and dinna worry about me!"

Rab shook his head. "What d'ye prefer, me lecturin' ye, or Papa pointin' out yer lack o' manners in front of all here?"

"Aye, all right!" his younger brother gulped, knowing full well that was what Malcolm would do if he had caught his son displaying such churlish behavior. After that he sipped his soup softly.

The next course was a fish with vegetables and consisted of a whole salmon baked in its skin, rubbed with savory herbs and butter, surrounded with whole pearl onions, spinach, and cheese croquettes fried crisp. Also perch in a béchamel sauce was served. Belle took some of each portion, using her seafood fork to spear the tender fish and sop the sauce with a piece of her bread. The seafood fork was a new addition to the high table, brought by Queen Mary from France, and it showed how refined the diners were. Obviously, despite being removed from court, the Carlyles were not quite the rural country squires they had been made out to be.

The butler came and poured Malcolm a glass of fine French sauvignon blanc, and the pages also did the same for Rab, Belle, and Neal.

Malcolm again toasted the health of the couple, and proclaimed the wine excellent.

Rab watched, concerned, but then Father Bryce, who was seated next to Belle, engaged his papa in conversation, and Malcolm forgot to ask for a refill.

The third course was a fresh salad, with crunchy greens, onions, radishes, and carrots in a light dressing with toasted almonds.

Rab had always liked salad, though he knew many did not, and indeed he had to remind Neal to eat his vegetables. He recalled his mama always telling Jamie the same thing.

Belle picked up some salad on her fork and said, "This salad is verra tasty, Rab."

"Aye, it has a dressing of red vinegar, olive oil, and spices. My cook got the recipe from a visiting Italian merchant who passed this way years ago," Rab explained, and bit into his forkful with relish.

"It's delicious," Belle said, and her tongue flicked briefly over her lips.

Their eyes met again and something bright and hot flashed between them as their gazes entwined.

Rab smiled and saluted her with his salad fork. "I always recommend that my patients eat a healthy diet of greens and meat, dearie."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Must ye make calf eyes over the salad, Rab?"

His brother snorted. "Calf eyes?" He gave his little brother a very light cuff on the back of the head. "Mind yer tongue, Master Impudence!"

Neal smirked, unfazed by the gentle tap. "Aye, sir. I'm mindin', else ye'd look worse than the radishes in that salad."

Rab, who could only imagine the scamp's questions and comments, said, "See that ye do, else you're gonna spend the next two days scrubbin' my infirmary."

Neal exhaled and promptly took another bite of his salad, figuring it was safer if he ate rather than talked right then.

Next came the crowning glory, the meat course. A whole haunch of venison basted in red wine and savory spices was served resting a bed of new potatoes, carrots, and onions. It was also accompanied by a suckling pig with an apple in its mouth. Both meats had been painstakingly slow roasted all day till the meat was tender and practically fell off the bones when it was carved.

The suckling pig was also accompanied by pan gravy and a stuffing of apples, corn, and chestnuts.

Everyone ate of the delicious meat, the pages and servers coming around twice and three times to refill platters. A robust red wine accompanied this course.

Rab observed that Malcolm seemed to be limiting himself to a glass apiece at each course rather than the several he normally had. He also made sure his brother's glass was replaced with normal cider instead of wine, deeming it too strong for a mere boy.

While they ate, a musician began to play a mandolin softly, and Rab looked across at his wife and asked. "How are ye settling in, Belle? Is there aught ye need?"

"Fine, Rab. I hae met with some of the household staff including the Chamberlain and the housekeeper and they hae introduced me to the upstairs servants. I will meet with the cook and so forth tomorrow after morning prayers."

"Yes, that would best," agreed Rab. "How does yer leg? Is it paining ye much?"

She shook her head. "Not much. It just throbs now and again."

"Good. 'Tis healing. I shall examine it after supper and again tomorrow morn t' make certain the swelling has gone down, then I would like tae do something with it that I have seen done before in Edinburgh by my mentor. I would like to apply a plaster casting to it, so that it may be protected better while it heals. The casting will enable ye to move about more freely, without fear ye may bang it and so forth. Would ye allow me to do so?"

"Why not? Ye are the doctor, after all, and I hae seen that ye know what ye are about," she agreed.

"Good. If it is not swollen tomorrow, I shall cast it." Rab said. He saluted her with his goblet of wine. " _Slainte_ , my lady Carlyle!"

She returned his salute, thinking that were she better, she would enjoy spending more time with him. "Would ye like to play chess after supper? I ken I wish to see if I can beat ye."

Rab grinned. "It would be my pleasure, lass. And dinna think ye will find beating me an easy task."

"Rab's the best chess player here, besides Papa," Neal declared. "And even Papa cannae beat him half o' the time."

The next course was poultry—roasted pheasant and duck a'la'orange, another dish brought over by the queen from the French court. It was accompanied by a barley and bean mixture.

Belle loved pheasant and duck and ate the most of this course. The last course was the sweet, several pies—apple, cherry, and berry rhubarb, as well as sweet sticky buns, a three tiered cake frosted with rich cream frosting and the Carlyle and Fraser coat of arms in baked sugar. There was also a fruit bowl and different kinds of cheeses, with tea and a dessert Madeira.

Neal took all of the desserts and dug in with relish, prompting Rab to caution, "Dinna stuff yourself like a Michaelmas goose, Neal."

"M'fine. Dinna fash yerself!" his brother muttered around a mouthful of sticky bun.

"Och, if ye do, I'll no' be given ye anything for yer aching belly," Rab warned. Then he went to eat his own piece of cake and some apple pie with fresh cream.

Belle especially enjoyed the flaky buns, the apple pie with a wedge of cheddar cheese, and a cup of tea.

After the final course was served, Malcolm called for a piper and a harpist as well as the mandolin player to come and play some dance tunes.

People clapped and then partnered for reels and other roundels, even Malcolm danced with some of the unmarried ladies. A pretty lass called Heather, the fletcher's daughter, even asked Neal to dance with her. Belle watched the people on the floor, her good foot tapping in time to the music, and Rab came to sit beside her.

"If ye were well, I'd ask ye to dance," he told her honestly. "I'll admit, I cannae dance as well as I can heal but I enjoy it, especially with my bonny wife."

Belle smiled. "And if I dinna have this leg, I'd take ye up on yer offer, husband."

They watched the dancers for a bit more, then Rab suggested they retire to the solar so they could play a game of chess before bed. He called Missus Potts to assist him as they shepherded Belle up the stairs and down the west wing of the keep to where his mama's solar was.

Inside Belle found a cozy room with several stuffed cushioned chairs, a large window seat, bookshelf and a table with a chessboard upon it. Rab helped her to a seat, placed her foot gently upon a hassock, and then sat opposite her. "I believe, dearie, 'tis my turn to go first."

Belle found Rab a challenging opponent, one who was not afraid to take risks, but she also realized that he was a canny one as well. He made her think and fight for every move, and she had to admit he was a grand strategist.

When she commented on this, Rab said modestly, "That's because 'tis how I serve my papa best, as his war strategist. I am good wi' a sword, ye ken, but my heart is no' really in fighting. I prefer to plan strategy and then mend our men if they be hurt in battle. 'Tis a more fulfilling accomplishment for me and just as honorable as protecting our lands."

"I agree. I mean, even if women were allowed to fight, as they did of old, I prefer to stay home and heal the beasties and read in the garden or even plant in the garden. Though my papa did teach me how to defend myself. I can use a dirk and a small bow, though I dinna hunt except to put food on the table."

"I dinna enjoy hunting save for that reason either," Rab replied. "'Tis no sport for me to kill a beast for its hide or antlers."

"Hae ye read much, Rab?"

"Aye, a fair amount."

"What is your favorite book?"

"Besides my herbal and Hippocrates medical treatises?" he asked with wry grin. "Well, I do enjoy the old Latin poets—Virgil, Ovid, and of course Homer. Do ye read Latin, Belle?"

"I do. And speak it, French, Greek, and English. I can also read in those languages," she replied, a little warily for most men she knew did not like a female who was so learned. "I hae read the Legends of King Arthur and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in French, and Plutarch's Lives, Caesar's commentaries, and of course I have read the Bible. My mama gave me a Book of Hours, and I read a page a day and try and meditate upon the verse."

"And what was the verse today?"

"It mentioned patience."

"A good trait to have," Rab said.

"And one I fear I need to work on, for at times I am often impatient," she admitted.

"I believe that's a flaw all of us possess," the doctor said. "Would ye care for another game, or do ye wish to go to sleep?"

Belle was about to agree to another round, but found that she was actually tired and said, "Mayhap I'd better go to sleep now." She grimaced as her ankle throbbed.

Rab helped her to her room and examined her ankle, pleased to find there was less swelling and then Missus Potts said she would help Belle get into her nightclothes.

"I will go and speak with my father. I want to know if he's set a date for his retreat with Father Bryce," Rab said.

Belle nodded, knowing the deal he had struck with the laird and hoping Malcolm still intended to honor it.

She sat and allowed Missus Potts to remove her gown and slip a soft chemise over her head. As Belle tied the ribbons, Rumple darted out from the bed hangings and swiped a paw at her hem, his green eyes glinting.

"Ye wee imp!" Belle laughed, and then dangled some yarn for him to play with.

As the kitten raced about the room, another cat came into the room, this one a pretty brown and gold tabby with a white bib and paws. She stopped when she saw the white and gold kitten, her back arching and tail lashing. She laid her ears back and hissed angrily at the newcomer.

Rumple skidded to a halt and stared at the newcomer, then mewed softly.

"Oh dearie me!" Missus Potts exclaimed. "That be the master's cat, Raine. And t'would seem she dinna take to finding another kitty here in her room."

"I'm sure she's just startled," Belle said, watching them. "She'll no' hurt Rumple."

"And just how d'ye ken that?" asked Missus Potts.

Belle shrugged.

The older cat had now sat down in the center of the room, her whiskers twitching and tail also. She watched Rumple intently.

The kitten abandoned the string and now came up to Raine curiously.

They sniffed noses, then Rumple proceeded to pounce upon Raine's tail, got swatted for his impudence, then darted away.

Raine followed, and the two were suddenly chasing each other under the bed and around the table, while Belle said, "See? They're playing."

"Och, aye, and precious little sleep ye'll get with this lot," her maid sniffed, then began to brush out Belle's hair.

Once that was done, Belle washed her face and hands, brushed her teeth, and then climbed into the feather tester with assistance after she drank the posset Rab had left for her.

Missus Potts stoked the fire, then asked, "Will ye require aught else, Lady Belle?"

"No, thank ye, I am quite comfortable," she assured the maid, and then dismissed her for the night.

Belle read her book on animal husbandry and wished she might check out the stables once her ankle was cast. The cats darted in and out of the bed hangings while she read until her eyes grew heavy and she put aside her book. As she drifted into slumber, she felt Rumple pounce on her good foot and Raine settle beside her on the pillow.

She must have dozed off but was awakened by the soft creak of the door and soft footsteps.

Belle stirred and opened her eyes to see her husband in the room. It was only then that she realized one very pertinent fact. This was also _his_ bedroom and tonight he would sleep beside her. The thought was partly disconcerting.

Rab had glanced once at the bed, which still had the hangings drawn back, and saw Belle asleep among the pillows, her foot propped up, the two cats curled about her, and quietly began to undress. Normally his gillie would have assisted him, but he had bid the man stay and enjoy the festivities still going on in the hall. Rab unlaced his tunic and shirt, folding his plaid cloak and putting it over the bench at the foot of the bed.

He moved over to the wash stand and began to wash, running the soap and towel about his neck and chest, his back to the bed.

Belle was suddenly wide awake, as she caught sight of his naked torso, his back smooth with muscle as he ran the cloth about him. She had seen men bare to the waist before, as she had been around the stableyard and training field when the men-at-arms and grooms rinsed themselves off after a practice bout or a workout with a difficult horse, and yet none of them had ever stirred these odd feelings in her that seeing her husband's naked chest did.

He had turned around now, and was seated on the bench, taking off his shoes and stockings. She found her eyes irresistibly drawn to his lean frame, like a rangy hound or a swift courser, he didn't have slabs of muscle like the warriors, or the width of the shoulders and the tall frame of some of the Highlanders she had known, but his compact size made her like him all the more, because he did not intimidate her the way most men did, who were tall enough to pick her up and break her in half if they had a mind to.

Her eyes widened as she saw him stand up and begin to remove his breeches. She knew she ought to look away, but she was mesmerized by the way the velvet breeches slid down him, revealing his well shaped backside in his small clothes and his bare thighs and calves. Her mouth went dry as she imagined touching that well-muscled backside.

Rab tossed his clothing on the bench, then moved to the armoire and bent to find a nightshirt. As he did so, his small clothes slipped down, and Belle caught a glimpse of his bare behind.

Her indigo eyes widened to the size of gold florins and she could not stifle a gasp.

Rab had his head and shoulders in the nightshirt when he felt eyes on him and then heard a soft intake of breath. He froze with the shirt half on. "Belle?"

She suddenly lost the power of speech and remained with a hand over her mouth, her eyes riveted to the sight before her. Heat curled up through her.

Rab tugged the shirt down and straightened, realizing too late that she must have woken up when he was in the middle of undressing, and while he was used to seeing people in various stages of undress and naked also due to his profession, he feared he had shocked his virgin bride speechless.

He turned, awkward and flushing, to find his wife sitting up in bed, wide-eyed like a doe seeing a hunter and freezing. "I'm sorry, did I wake you, dearie? I thought I was being quiet."

"No . . .I . . . mean . . .I'm a light sleeper . . ." she felt her face flame and was grateful for the sheet she clutched to her. "I didn't realize . . .that ye would be . . .err . . .coming to bed . . .err . . .right away . . ."

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Dearie, do ye know what time it is? Almost twelve o'clock. And I do want to get up early tomorrow so I can cast yer ankle. Do ye need something to help ye sleep?"

"No . . ." she shook her head, then an image of his bare backside, or what she had seen of it flashed in her head and she thought she should have taken him up on his offer because she was sure with that before her eyes she would find it impossible to sleep!

She could only imagine the penance the good father would impose on her for her impure thoughts come confession the next morning! Then she bit her lip. After all, was it really wrong to think such thoughts about one's husband? The Bible said that they should be fruitful and multiply.

Rab raised an eyebrow, thinking that she had probably gotten an eyeful. But what was done was done and all he could do was hope she had liked what she'd seen. He knew he wasn't the type of man any woman fantasized about, like a knight or a warrior, yet she _had_ compared him to Fingal, so maybe he was wrong and she did like him and didn't mind that she was married to a wee physician and not some braw Highland soldier.

Then he pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed, thinking wryly that this would be the first night he had spent in the company of his wife in bed. As he slid between the sheets, he said, "Good night, Belle, dearie."

Then he blew out the candles and drew the bed hangings to keep out the drafts.

As he lay back against his pillow he encountered a warm furry body and muttered, "Raine, lass, must ye hog the pillow?"

The cat protested as he gently pushed her over, but then settled in the hollow between his ear and neck, purring.

"I hope ye dinna mind sharing the bed wi' my cat."

"Not if ye dinna mind my kitten. He's lying on my feet."

"Nay."

His eyes drifted shut, thinking it was a pity she was still injured, for he would have liked to explore the carnal delights many of his friends and his papa had boasted of, and being near Belle was making it damned awkward to go to sleep! He sternly told that part of his brain to shut itself off and began reciting Latin names for bones and organs in his head, hoping to dampen his sudden ardor.

Beside him he heard Belle sigh softly and shift her hand slightly until her fingers brushed his arm in the dark.

The contact made a certain part of his anatomy come wide awake.

 _Oh dearie dearie-dammit!_

He began breathing deeply, trying to mediate and relax. He couldn't sleep like this . . .and he needed his sleep. He was sure Belle did too, and wished he had taken a sleeping draught or something. Who would have thought he would have this reaction to merely lying next to his wife?

He imagined a stream of icy water flowing over him, and at last his problem resolved itself and he sighed in relief and fell asleep.

As her husband's breathing evened out, Belle managed to put the rather arousing sight of his lean backside out of her head and close her eyes. Soon she too was asleep, but in her dreams she not only saw Rab's naked backside, but every other inch of him as well, just before she pulled him down on the bed and they consummated the marriage with a fiery passion she had never known existed.


	8. Butting Heads

**8**

 **Butting Heads**

Belle woke to the sound of rain hitting the lead glass panes and on the roof and for a moment groaned, as her ankle was now throbbing because of the weather. She recalled her old nurse saying that her rheumatism always ached fit to being stretched on the rack when it rained and now she knew exactly how the poor woman had felt. She wished she could rub the ache away, and shifted her foot slightly under the covers.

The movement woke her husband, who sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Belle? Are ye in pain?" He half turned to her, shoving back the hangings on his side so he could see her face.

She turned to him, a grimace on her face. "It just . . .aches so in this rain," she admitted. Then she felt like a coward and whining over her hurt ankle. "I'm sorry, I dinna mean to complain—"

He touched her cheek gently with his hand. "Complain? Because the damp makes the bones of yer ankle ache? Dearie, ye've every right to be hurting and to say so when I ask ye. I hae no wish fr ye to play the martyr and suffer needlessly. Now, let me get a wee dram o' poppy from my bag an' let me see if Theo is up to get me some mead to put it in or tea for ye."

He moved his feet in preparation to arise, rustling the bed covers.

That in turn brought one very playful and curious kitten to investigate.

"Oww!" her husband yelped as Rumple pounced upon his feet, and grasped a toe in his paws and gnawed on it. "Why ye wee wretch!" He shook his foot. "Get off, ye wee varmint!"

But that only caused the kitten to hang on tighter and bite harder.

Belle giggled, her pain somewhat forgotten as she viewed the battle of wills—or rather toes—between her husband and her rumple-eared kitten.

"Oh sure, ye can laugh," Rab muttered, still trying to reclaim his foot.

Rumple growled and hung on determinedly.

The doctor glanced exasperatedly back at his cat, who was leisurely grooming herself on his pillow. "Raine, why d'ye no' help me out, instead o' sitting like the Queen of Sheba an' watching?"

Raine continued licking her spotless white bib, her golden eyes lidding and then eyeing her master with a Look that spoke volumes. _If he's bothering you, YOU deal with it._

Then she began to wash her paws.

Huffing about faithless creatures, Rab went and grasped the kitten by its scruff, gently lifting him into the air and Rumple lost his hold on the doctor's foot. "Ye wee devil, ye need to learn no' tae bite people!" he scolded.

"Rab, he was only playing," Belle began. "Dinna hurt him!"

"Dearie, he needs tae learn to keep his teeth off people. I'm no' gonna have a wildcat attacking me every morning." Rab said firmly. He tapped the kitten on the nose. "No biting! Bad!"

Rumple mewed in protest.

Then Rab let him go. The irritated feline scurried under the table, where he glared at them.

"Och, Rab, ye scared him!"

Her husband snorted. "I dinna do anything his own mama wouldna done. 'Tis how I taught my puppy not to chew things—including my ankles, since collies wanna herd everything, no matter if they hae wool an' four feet or no'." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Now if it hae been my papa, he'd have gotten a wallop sure enough."

Belle gasped. "He'd have hit such a wee creature?"

"Aye, if he were drunk. Otherwise he'd bellow till it ran from him. But then, Papa hae never been the sort to take up wi' critters, ye ken. He's no' that sort, like ye an' me. 'Twas my mama who loved beasties."

"I wish I could hae met her," Belle said wistfully.

"Aye, she woulda liked ye, dearie," Rab said, with a fond smile. "But 'tis as God wills. Now let me get ye that posset."

He went and pulled a bell rope for Theo, who came immediately and then departed to fetch the goblet of mead Rab requested. While his manservant was doing so, Rab came and examined his wife's ankle. "'Tis sore, aye, but no' swollen like it was. I think it will be safe for me to cast it, an' then ye can move more freely about the castle wi' yer crutches."

"Truly? I hae been so bored cooped up in my room," Belle said, relieved. "I want to see more o' my new home and people."

"Good, then after the cast sets, ye shall," Rab promised.

Theo returned with the mead and Rab mixed up another pain potion for her, then Missus Potts came and brought them their breakfast, which was porridge with dried fruit and honey, an apple, and some smoked bacon along with some tea. Most people drank ale with their meal, but Rab preferred tea in the morning and also said patients who took his medicines should restrict their intake of alcohol so Belle had tea also, which she had to admit she preferred to ale anyway.

Once they had eaten, Missus Potts came in to assist her mistress in dressing and Rab also dressed and hurried down to his infirmary to mix up the plaster he needed. He returned some ten minutes later with Neal, who had volunteered to be his assistant, and who carried a roll of soft linen bandages under his arm.

"Good morrow, Belle!" the boy announced cheerfully as he entered the room. Belle was now sitting up in a chair beside the small table while the undermaids tidied the room and made the bed, and Missus Potts straightened out her wardrobe and trunk. "Rab made a deal wi' me that if I help him wi' this, he'll let me use the extra plaster to make figures to paint."

"That's good, Neal. Do ye like to paint things?"

"Aye, I do." The boy said. "Someday I told Papa I was gonna make him a large painting to put on the wall of the great hall, only I dinna ken yet what it will be."

"That's better than ye drawin' on the wall like ye did as a wee lad," Rab teased. "Ye nearly gave Papa a seizure, an' yer lucky Mama was around tae prevent him from tanning yer behind."

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm no' a bairn anymore, Rab. He willna ever let me forget that!"

"Anymore than ye will let me forget the time Jamie an' I tipped the boat over wi' Papa in it fishing!" Rab returned, setting the bucket of plaster down beside his wife's foot. "Now, dearie, I'm gonna unwrap some o' the bandages here, so I can wind these new ones about with the plaster on it. It may be a wee bit uncomfortable, but I'm gonna gi' ye a stronger draught to make ye sleep for a bit, aye?"

"Must I sleep?" Belle asked, for she was curious about the casting.

"Aye, because if ye move while I do it, I'll hae t'start over," her husband said. He pulled out a vial and said, "Two swallows." As Belle drank the medicine, he ordered Neal to stir the bucket of plaster while he dipped the strips of linen into it. He swished them around till they were well coated, then when he saw Belle doze, began to unwind the bandages from her ankle.

He took off the old bandages and splint, gently washed the foot and dried it with a soft cloth and then wrapped three bandages about it that were not plastered as a cushion. Neal watched intently, waiting for his brother to tell him to hand him a plaster strip, which Rab did after a few seconds.

Neal dipped his hands in the bucket and handed a dripping plaster strip to Rab, who quickly wound it tightly about Belle's ankle while she slept. "How long will it take tae dry?"

"A few minutes. Hand me another," the physician ordered. He continued winding securely, making sure each end was wound tightly and attached with plaster before he did another strip. Finally the bucket was empty and Rab said, "Wash yer hands, Neal, before ye bring this bucket down to wherever ye want to cast those clay figures."

"I'll call Tessa in tae mop up this," Missus Potts said to Rab after Neal had departed, as there were plaster spots on the floor.

"Thanks, Missus Potts," Rab said politely as he scrubbed. "The cast should dry while Belle sleeps and when she wakes should be fully dried. I'll come by in about two hours and check."

"Ye're a good doctor, milaird," Missus Potts said. "Better than most."

Rab felt pride suffuse him. "I had a good mentor. He believed in the Hippocratic oath "First, do no harm." As do I. Many o' those who call themselves physicians hae no more knowledge o' true healing than would fill a thimble. And in their ignorant minds, they hurt more than heal."

He did not say so, but his mentor, Azhir actually had medical texts, ancient ones, copied from the ancient Roman physicians and Egyptians who attended the ancient medical school of Alexandria. Azhir maintained that the ancient physicians had knowledge that their predecessors had forgotten, and a better understanding of how the human body worked. Rab's study of these ancient texts, which would have condemned him for heresy if the church ever knew of them, enabled him to use different techniques on his patients rather than relying on the false idea of humors and astrology that most of those who called themselves doctors did. Some of what the Egyptians did mentioned magic spells, but Rab had ignored those, knowing better than to read them, and just relied on the actual medical practices set down for treatments of wounds, and some bodily ills. Azhir was also something of a medical rebel, and didn't follow any particular treatment or diagnosis blindly no matter who said it or taught it, he questioned, and taught Rab to question also, and to observe and use rational methods with regards to diagnosis and treatment of patients.

Rab had read all of the ancient texts and treatises, including ones translated from Arabic and Egyptian, ones in Latin and Greek from Galen and Pedanius Discorides, an ancient herbalist whom Rab had found excellent as a pharmacology reference. He tended, however to take some remedies with a grain of salt, especially folk ones, and relied upon methods and treatments he had known to work for his patients or that made sense to his logical brain. Anything that sounded outlandish or promised miracle cures or instant panaceas for ills—like animal dung, urine of a pregnant ass, or tobacco—he dismissed as bunk. He did believe there was a connection between the spirit and mind and body, as some of the Arab physicians believed, and encouraged patients to think happy thoughts and meditate and fill themselves with peace and positive affirmations, using their own experiences or God's word as their touchstones. One of Rab and Azhir's most prized anatomy texts, and the one that had led both physicians to disavow the traditional practice of cupping and bleeding patients was a forbidden copy of DaVinci's anatomy book, smuggled out of Italy at great personal cost by one of his apprentices and which Azhir had paid dearly to obtain. In secret, he and Rab had studied the drawings and the theories postulated by the great artist and inventor, and both had come to the conclusion that the genius was correct in his conclusions about the heart, circulatory system and so forth. Azhir had given Rab a precious copy of the book upon his "graduation" from his apprenticeship, though it was a secret known only to them, for had any church official ever seen that text it would have been burned as heretical and they themselves might also have gone on trial for being warlocks. Rab was careful to keep it "disguised" in a false cover labeled _Galen's Anatomical Treatises_ , with some of Galen's Greek writings in the front and back and DaVinci's illustrations and Latin commentaries in the middle. It was not hidden on his bookshelf either, but in plain sight along with his other medical texts and law treatises. Because no one's curiosity would be aroused by a book kept in plain sight, only one that was hidden.

He nodded at the lady's maid, knowing Belle would be in capable hands, and went back downstairs to tidy up his infirmary before getting a simple snack of cheese and grapes to nibble on before he sought out Father Bryce to ask how the cottage was coming along for his papa, and then to locate Malcolm and Steward Burns and ask about a shipment of goods delivered to the estate which included some new muslin sheets and blankets for his infirmary.

It was while he was overseeing the lads putting the new sheets and blankets on the twelve beds in his infirmary that a frantic young husband from the village ran into the keep. "Dr. Rab!" the young man, Hamish, panted. "My wife's time is upon her an' the midwife Old Clarice be away in the next village tending another woman. Please will ye no' come help? I dinna ken what tae do!"

"Aye, lad. I'll meet ye out in the bailey." Rab said, then he spoke to the boys and said, "Finish wi' the beds then ye may go about yer other duties, an' tell Missus Carmichael I said ye may have some extra pasties an' cider for a job well done." He then grabbed his medical satchel and after saddling Auriel, rode down to the village to the house of Hamish, who was a cooper, with the man riding pillion.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle woke up thirsty and hungry, and after examining her newly cast foot, decided to venture below stairs and get something to eat. Missus Potts accompanied her, worried she would slip and fall. But Belle soon found that navigating the stairs was easier now that she had the cast once she had walked back and forth a few times on her crutches in her room, getting used to the new feel of it.

People looked up as she entered the hall, and some looked surprised to see their new mistress there and others ignored her, going about their duties. Belle nodded at them in a friendly manner and then sat at the high table where she had sat last night for the feast.

Missus Potts and a serving girl named Jenny soon brought her some food and some mead. Belle ate hungrily of the repast—which was leftover venison, bread, vegetables, and a honeycake.

She asked a passing servant where the laird and Rab were, and he replied Malcolm was out on the estate and Rab was down in the village delivering a baby. It was still drizzling and mucky out, and Belle decided to find Moira and ask her to show her about the keep now that she was more mobile. If this was going to be her new home, she wanted to know it as well as she had Fraser keep where she had grown up. That was one of the first lessons her mother had taught her—to know the people and place where you were going to rule over.

She instructed one of the keep lads to go and fetch the housekeeper and meanwhile listened to the ebb and flow of conversation around her. It seemed that most of Carlyle was content now that Malcolm had returned with Rab and his new bride. She heard several complimentary things about her new husband, mostly in praise of his skills as both doctor and lawyer in settling dispute that arose. It appeared her husband was known for his shrewd dealings and ability to see every side of an issue as well as his even temperament, unlike his papa's, which often flared up when he was drunk.

It made Belle feel much better that she was the wife of someone whom her people respected and liked, not the tyrant beast she had initially feared. When she asked the serving maid Tessa why Rab had gone into the village to deliver a baby, and not a midwife, since usually that was their job, Tessa replied that Dr. Rab filled in if the midwife was unavailable and the villagers trusted him with many of their medical issues rather than going to the barber-surgeon the next town over or even to their own apothecary most times.

Belle smiled. _Mama, it seems ye were right and Queen Mary did me a favor with this match. I hope that luck continues to smile upon me, if God is kind._

But when the servant came back and said they couldn't find the housekeeper, Belle lost her smile. "Um, verra well. I suppose I can just . . . see for myself," she said trying not to be disheartened, though she felt something was very odd here. Normally such a prominent figure's whereabouts would be known, in case of an emergency.

Belle began to walk from the hall, intending to visit the kitchens, when she spotted Neal and waved to him.

The laird's third son brightened when he saw her. "Belle, ye're walking better with the cast. Where are ye going? Rab's no' here, he went out on a call to the village, the cooper's wife is havin' her bairn."

"Aye, I ken that," she replied. "I was hoping to find Moira, so she could show me around the castle, but she seems to be nowhere to be found at the moment." Belle sighed.

"I can show ye," Neal said, thinking this was the perfect excuse to get out of his dreaded lessons with his tutor. "I know everything about the castle."

"But . . . ye looked like you were going somewhere? Do ye have lessons?" Belle queried.

Neal shrugged. "Aye, but old Stuart, my Latin tutor, isna feeling too well after last night's feast. Guess he had bit too much whiskey. I'll just tell him to go back t'bed an' we can do my lesson tomorrow."

"If you're sure? I dinna want to get ye in trouble, Neal."

"Ye won't. Dinna fash yerself, Belle," he said with a smirk. "Wait here." Then he darted away through the hall.

Belle leaned on her crutches and waited. Within seven minutes, Neal was back, breathing a bit heavily, and he slid to a stop in front of her. "All right, are ye ready, milady?" he sketched her a bow. "I am at yer service."

"Lead on, sir," she said, and gestured.

Neal looked like a boy on a holiday, saying gaily, "Where would ye like to go first? The kitchens, mayhap? Did ye meet the cook yet? Her name is Bridie Carmichael, but we all call her Missus Mike, cause o' my brother Jamie. Jamie couldna say her name when he first learned to talk . . ."

Belle found that Neal was a font of information about the keep and its inhabitants, and happily prattled to her with amusing stories and anecdotes. After meeting Missus Mike, whom she liked a great deal, and the cook saying that the former lady of the castle had actually written meal plans down for her to follow, since Missus Mike could read and write, Belle took some of the plans Lady Ceri had written back with her, to get an idea of what she ought to plan for dinner and supper.

"'Tis high time Dr. Rab wed, an' ye seem like a pleasant lass," the cook chortled, she was a round woman with lively green eyes and dark hair bundled up under her cap. "The keep needs a lady around the place. And dinna let this scamp tell ye any tall tales, aye?" she ruffled Neal's hair affectionately.

"Now would I do that, Missus Mike?" the boy said, playing innocent.

"Ye would do whatever ye could get away wi'!" the cook grinned. "Like yer papa, ye can be a rascal." She turned to Belle. "I've been here since the laird was a wee lad like this one, ye see."

"Aye, Missus Mike is as old as Methuselah!" Neal teased.

"Get on wi' ye, laddie!" she pretended to swat him with her dishcloth. "Behave or no hot cross buns for ye!"

Neal gave her puppydog eyes. "Ye're like a May morn, Missus Mike an' all the lads wanna dance wi' ye."

The cook giggled. "Och, aye, ye mean they want a piece o' my scones an' meat pies." She then handed them each a hot cross bun and they lingered in the kitchen to eat, which Belle noted was run tighter than a ship at sea, before Neal led her out again to the pantry and buttery.

After speaking again with the butler and pantler, Neal took her to the storage rooms on the lower level. "But I canna get in here, because Moira always has the key," he told her.

"I see. Mayhap when I find her I should tell her to give me it," Belle surmised, knowing perfectly well the housekeeper should have given up her keys to the new mistress of the keep.

"Aye, mayhap she forgot, as there was a lot to do yesterday," Neal said. "Let me show ye the weaving rooms. We Carlyles weave a lot, an' all o' us, even the laird knows how to weave."

"I know too," Belle said. "The first blanket I wove I used to put on an injured mare in the winter."

Neal smiled. "Rab says ye heal animals like he does people."

"I try . . .but wi' this leg 'tis difficult." Belle admitted with a chuckle.

"But 'tis healing, aye?"

"Aye, yer brother is a verra good doctor."

Neal nodded proudly. "Rab is good at whatever he does. Only sometimes . . . my papa doesna see that . . .an' he keeps comparin' him tae Jamie an' it makes Rab feel like nothin' he does is good enough." Neal sighed. "An' once he said he dinna ever think he'd marry because he's a difficult man to love."

Belle felt a sudden pang of sorrow thinking about how Rab must have felt trying to please a man who kept comparing him to a ghost. She knew that death sometimes made people give the lost one attributes they never possessed in life-like sainthood. She took Neal's hand in her own. "Neal . . . I want ye to ken this—when I was commanded to marry yer brother I feared he was a beast like all the stories we Frasers had ever heard about ye Carlyles. But after I was . . .rescued by him an' he healed me I started tae see that the stories were just that—stories."

"Rab would never hurt ye, Belle. He doesna hurt women ever. Or children. An' the only time he ever skelped me I think it hurt him more than it did my backside." Neal said ruefully.

"I would imagine it did. He dinna seem like the type to use a belt or a switch on a child."

"Och, an' he dinna. He only used his hand. My papa . . .well sometimes he's used one . . ." Neal grimaced.

Belle winced. She knew that was a common method of punishment for misbehavior but she couldn't imagine ever doing such to her own child, or her husband either. She suspected her brother might have gotten a thrashing a time or two from his tutor or even her papa, but generally Marcus was not a strict dour disciplinarian. "I'm sorry for that, Neal," she said sincerely. "And I dinna think yer brother is as difficult to love as he thinks."

"Nay, Belle. He is no' . . . sometimes I think I . . . love him more n' our papa," Neal admitted softly. "But he can be distant n' prickly sometimes."

"I can be a pain in the . . .backside when it comes to doing something like healing an animal and be pretty . . .impulsive too," Belle admitted. "But Neal, no one is perfect. And the more I get to ken Rab, the more I see someone that I . . . like."

 _Ye more than like him, Belle if yer thoughts last night were any indication!_ Her conscience sniggered. Recalling why she had those thoughts made her blush.

"That's good, Belle. Rab needs someone tae love him. Since I dinna think that girl he met in Edinburgh loved him at all." Neal informed her.

"What girl?" Belle sputtered.

"Och, dinna worrit, Rab told me she was the herb woman's daughter an' he dinna like her the way she wanted him to. He said she was too grasping an' greedy an' he dinna love her." Neal explained quickly.

"What was her name?"

"Err . . .Zelena . . ." Neal said, coughing. Now he was sorry he'd mentioned that little detail. But truly, it couldn't matter now, could it? After all, Belle was his brother's wife now.

Belle sniffed. "Sounds foreign. Like a Gypsy or something." She already could imagine what this girl looked like—all lush curves, big hips, bosoms that filled a man's hands, sultry smile, dark skin and hair black as night—and already she felt an unaccustomed jealousy. What if Neal was wrong? And Rab had loved this Zelena . . .but had to let her go because the son of a laird didn't marry the herb woman's daughter?

Suddenly all of her insecurities returned tenfold. She gripped her crutches, white knuckled, and stared off down the corridor, the torchlight dancing on the wall.

"Belle? Are ye feeling poorly?" Neal asked, concerned. They had been all over the bottom portion of the castle in about two hours. He wiped his hands on his kilt agitatedly, thinking if Belle became ill because he had taken her traipsing all over, Rab would be furious. And more than likely teach him the error of his ways with the flat of his hand to his backside. "Belle? Ye look pale, would ye like to stop now and go lie down?"

Belle rubbed her head, feeling a sudden throbbing in her temples. Normally she would sneer at any woman who had "attacks of vapors" or anything so weak and girlish. But upon learning of this girl Rab had known in Edinburgh, she felt as if she were smothering. As if on cue, her ankle throbbed.

"I . . .mayhap that's a good idea, Neal," she agreed. Then she began to limp back up the corridor, followed by the anxious lad, all the way back to her room, where she set her crutches aside and tumbled into bed, weary and aching.

"Lovey, is sommat wrong?" asked Missus Potts, concerned.

"No I just . . .need to rest," Belle muttered fretfully, and closed her eyes, wishing she could forget what she had just learned. But if her husband loved another—how could he ever learn to love her?

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Rab arrived back at the castle an hour after Belle had gone to lie down, tired but triumphant. The birth had gone well, better than he had expected for a first time, and both mother and wee bairn—a bonny lass—were resting comfortably before he took his leave. Rab had thought, as he had held the baby in his arms after cutting the cord and cleaning her up, that he wouldn't mind having one himself one day. Or two or three.

He hurried upstairs to wash and change, since there were a few hours before dinner, he had a tray sent up to his room, because he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. He asked Missus Potts if Belle had been in her room all day, and the lady's maid replied that no, Belle had gone downstairs for several hours and had come back up to nap an hour before.

"Good, she's moving around more, though I hope she dinna overdo it," he said.

"How did the birth go, sir?"

"Fine. Mother and bairn are doing well . . .and so is the new papa, once I picked him up off the floor," Rab chuckled wickedly. "She was delivered safely of a wee lassie."

Missus Potts looked relieved, for a woman, childbirth was like going to war, you never knew who would win, life or death. "That's good to know."

She departed then to let her master wash up and change, and eat his supper.

Four hours later, Belle and Rab went down to the hall for dinner, and while not the lavish affair yestereve's feast was, there was still three courses and plenty of food for all.

Belle was quiet during dinner, though she did ask Rab about the delivery and was assured that mama and daughter were doing well. She still felt upset and nervous about learning that Rab had a woman he might have loved back in Edinburgh, and she wondered if that was why he had never married. She pushed the fish around on her plate without really eating, her appetite spoiled by her unvoiced concerns.

Just before the sweet course, Malcom stood to address the hall. "Good people, I hae an announcement t'make," he called, somehow making his voice carry to all parts of the hall. "I am gonna go on a month retreat wi' Father Bryce tae a cottage up by the burn on the northwest side o' my lands. Of late, I hae noticed the sorry state o' my soul an' need a period o' reflection and meditation tae get back in balance." Murmurs of shock flew around the hall. "In addition to that, as long as I am absent, ye will obey my son Rab, yer tanist, as ye would me." He nodded shortly at Rab.

People nodded and looked pleased.

Belle smiled at Rab, and said, "I am sure ye shall do well, Rab." Then she leaned in and whispered, "And yer papa shall do fine."

"One can only hope," her husband said, then he ate a sugar comfit from a dish on the table.

Rab prayed his papa would keep his word and actually go through the retreat as he'd said, and hopefully with Father Bryce's guidance make it through the initial period without his whiskey. Rab was unsure what doing without the whiskey might cause Malcolm to do, but he recalled Azhir saying that sometimes doing without a substance brought on cravings, rages, and in some cases eating food and mood swings. He had stocked the cottage with barrels of spring water, cider, perry-a juice made from pears, and obtained several oranges from a trader along with different kinds of tea to be flavored with honey. He had asked Azhir to send him some _kaffee beans_ and a grinder, as well as how to prepare that popular Arabic drink. If they were going to wean Malcolm away from drink, they needed to supply him with alternatives.

Belle ate a sugared peach from the bowl on the table, then she glanced at Rab, who was speaking with Malcolm and the chaplain about the retreat, and once again her concern over Rab's being forced to abandon a woman that he could have care for deeply intruded. Suddenly she felt ill, and stood up, the peach like lead in her stomach.

"Something wrong, dearie?" Rab queried.

"I . . .I think I'm going to bed early," Belle said. "I'm rather tired and my ankle is hurting," she explained.

"All right, dearie," Rab dug a small cloth bag out of his satchel. "Tell Missus Potts to steep this in tea with a tablespoon of honey, it's willowbark powder and will help yer foot so ye can sleep."

Belle took the cloth bag then bid Neal and Malcolm good night and then limped upstairs.

Once she had entered her chambers again, she handed the bag to Missus Potts and told her Rab's instructions, then her old friend rang for tea and honey to be delivered and began helping her out of her gown.

Belle pulled her nightrail over her head while Missus Potts hung her gown in the wardrobe, sitting on the edge of the bed. She massaged her temples, wishing she could quit thinking about Zelena and pondering whether or not to bring this up with her husband. She bit her lip, worrying it back and forth. But then, what if he hadn't wanted her to know? After all he hadn't told her anything about this woman from Edinburgh. She didn't want him to be angry at his brother. She was also afraid of what his reaction might be to her knowing. Perhaps she was right and he truly had loved this woman?

She thought of the way Malcolm was with women and how she had heard some of the keep gossips about his taking mistresses. What if Rab were cut from the same cloth? What if he wanted a wife at home and a mistress in the city? She knew it wasn't uncommon for noblemen to take mistresses even after they were married. And a good wife wasn't supposed to complain, because that was a man's prerogative.

She felt ill, however, thinking of having to share her husband with another woman.

 _He vowed to be faithful to me,_ she reminded herself. _But, dear Jesu have mercy, what if he still longs for this Zelena in his heart? Shall I never be first in any man's heart?_

The thought turned her cold and gloomy.

She sipped the hot posset Missus Potts brought, and prayed the medicine would take effect quickly. She wanted to sleep, to be numb, to stop hurting and fratching and feeling miserable.

"You can go, Missus Potts. I'm going to sleep now," she told her maid, and then swung her legs into bed, propping her cast up on the pillows that were piled on the foot of the bed. As she pulled the covers up, Rumple came and jumped on her stomach, turning about and purring loudly.

"All right, m'dear, I'll be goin' tae sleep myself after I have a spot o' tea. Good night and may angels watch over ye."

As soon as Missus Potts had vacated the room, Belle stroked Rumple and cried, "You're so lucky you're a kitty, Rumple. Cats never worrit like this over anything."

Rumple, as if sensing his mistress' distress, began kneading her tummy and purring loudly.

At least her kitten loved her, she thought, and between Rumple's purring and the willow bark she fell asleep some fifteen minutes later.

But in her dreams she chased Rab down a road and a Gypsy woman appeared to block her way, laughing evilly and sneering, " _You cannot have him! He is mine!"_

She tossed and turned from the horrid dreams, but the tea did not permit her to wake, and Rab came in some hours later and found her sound asleep then crawled in beside her, relieved that she could sleep without pain.

"Good night, my bonny dearie," he crooned before he drew shut the hangings, placing a tender kiss on her lips.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle woke to the sun shining and Rumple mewing in her ear. Figuring the wee cat was hungry, she forced herself to sit up. Rab's side of the bed was empty and she wondered where he had gone so early, until she recalled him saying he was going to see Malcolm off on his retreat. "Hush, ye wee scrap," she gently scolded the meowing feline. "Dinna fash yerself, Rumple! I'm gettin' yer breakfast."

A movement by the hearth startled her as shoved back the blankets, and she saw one of the young undermaids, she believed the girl was called Lily, kneeling by the fireplace, shifting the andirons and sweeping out the ash and then re-laying the fire with fresh apple wood.

"Good morn to ye, Lily," Belle said as she sat up, hoping she hadn't confused the two girls. But she believed Lily was the one with dark hair. "'Tis Lily, aye?"

"Och, I'm so sorry, milady!" the girl cried in dismay. "I dinna mean tae wake ye wi' my noisy clatter!"

"Ye dinna, but my wee kitty did," Belle corrected, trying to put the girl, she was about thirteen, at ease.

But the girl seemed to become even more upset and when she looked up at her mistress, Belle could not help seeing the tear tracks in her sooty face.

"Why, Lily, what is the matter?" Belle said, alarmed. "Why are ye crying? Ye're no' in trouble."

"Och, o' course I am. I canna do anything right." Lily sniffled, swiping at her face with a rag. "Moira tol' me to lay the fire an' sweep away the cinders wi'out wakin' ye, an' I dinna do it. An' if she finds out, she's sure to switch me again because I'm a clumsy idjit!"

Belle's eyes narrowed. "Again? What—what do you mean? Has Moira skelped ye?"

The girl cringed at her angry tone, though it was not directed at her. "Aye, milady. For—for bein insolent tae her."

"Insolent how?" her mistress demanded. She had been under the impression that the servants here were treated well and while she knew it was the province of the housekeeper to maintain order among the chambermaids, she disliked the use of force on anyone, but especially children.

Lily licked her lips and stood, trembling slightly, her hands twisted in her apron. "W-weel, ye see, I . . .I hae to notice that . . .Moira still hae the keys on her belt an' so I asked her why she dinna gi' them tae ye yet, an' she said to mind my own business an' tend tae my work an' I said 'twas only a question. Then she got fratched wi' me and said if I couldna hold my tongue she'd hae me dismissed. An' I said . . .och I shouldna but I dinna like how she was talkin' 'bout ye, milady tae one o' the other maids . . .I said she couldna do that, because only the mistress o' the castle could dismiss servants and then she grabbed me by the hair and said she were still the head housekeeper around Carlyle an' she'd teach me tae be disloyal tae my clan and side wi' the enemy an' be an insolent miss!" Lily dropped her head. "Then she took the switch outta the closet an' she . . ."

The girl gestured weakly to her legs, and then lifted her skirt, showing Belle the red welts on the backs of her calves and thighs.

Belle was furious. "Och! She-she beat ye for defendin' me? I willna let this stand!" She groped for her crutches. She realized now that she should have demanded the keys back when she had first arrived, but between her injury and trying to acclimate herself to the keep, her husband, and everyone in it, she had quite let that slide. It was a lapse she saw now that had been encouraged by Moira.

"Here milady," Lily handed her the crutches. Then she said, "But ye dinna hae to say anything, please, else Moira will think I be tellin' tales . . ."

"Let me worry about Moira," Belle said briskly. "For ye were correct. _I_ am the mistress o' this castle and _I_ will decide what warrants a beating or no'!" She stood, Rumple twining around her ankles, meowing piteously. "Oh, dear! Rumple is hungry."

"I'll get the wee beastie sommat tae eat," Lily said eagerly, glad to have some task to do that involved her being far away from the mistress and the housekeeper when they clashed. She set her pail and shovel down, dusted off her hands and said, "I'm gonna fetch food from Missus Mike."

As she scurried out of the room, Belle followed, closing the door. Rumple meowed distraught on the other side. "Now, where can I find Moira?" she asked herself. She was going to have it out with the crotchety housekeeper once and for all, and settle the notion of who really was mistress here at Carlyle.

She glanced about the empty corridor and tried to figure out where the housekeeper was, when she heard a familiar voice say, "Now mind ye dust the furniture good in the laird's room, because we want everything tae be neat when he returns . . ."

Belle began limping down the hall to where the laird's suite was, her face set in what her papa used to call her thundercloud face.

It was an expression she wore rarely, but when she did, people learned to get out of the way for it meant she was going to give someone the rough edge of her tongue and flay them raw, figuratively speaking.

She found the head housekeeper standing in the doorway of Malcolm's room, her large iron ring of keys jingling on her belt.

Belle's jaw clenched. "Moira, a word wi' ye."

The other woman turned. "Milady, is there sommat ye need?"

"Aye, I need to discuss something wi' ye. In private," Belle declared. Then she pointed to the ring of keys. "An' I do believe those belong to me now."

"The keys?" Moira clutched them as if they were her firstborn. "Och, aye, but since ye are so sore afflicted, milady, I thought to keep them till ye were well."

"Afflicted?" Belle frowned sharply. "I hae a broken ankle, no' the plague. And now that Rab hae made me a cast, I am able to get around the keep and so the keys are mine as the new chatelaine o' Carlyle."

Moira stiffened. Then she reluctantly unlocked the ring from her belt and handed them to Belle, who tucked them on her wrist and limped down the door to her chamber.

Upon opening the door, she nearly tripped over a meowing Rumple.

As she stumbled and caught herself, Moira sniffed and said, "A fine chatelaine ye'll make, if ye canna keep yer feet!"

Belle turned, her eyes flashing. "At least I dinna beat my servants for speakin' the truth!"

"Did that wee wretch Lily come whining tae ye about her well-deserved thrashing?" sneered the housekeeper. "She was an insolent baggage who needed to ken her place—"

"Like ye need to ken _yours,_ Moira MacNamara?" Belle snapped.

"I ken well who hae served Carlyle these past six years since Lady Ceri went to heaven!" Moira growled. "An' I dinna consider no upstart Fraser lass who married by royal decree a fit mistress for a household where her kin hae slaughtered half the inhabitants, including my own betrothed!"

Belle gasped. "I hae slaughtered _no one_ , Moira, an' 'twas no' my idea tae wed a Carlyle, but I obey my queen, and to keep the peace between our houses I am here, despite the feud that threatens tae tear our families apart."

"Simply 'cause ye hae wed a Carlyle doesna take away the stain o' yer kinsman's bloody deeds against us!" hissed Moira. "An' I'll never forget ye cost me my Kenneth, ye an' yer murdering clansmen!"

Belle opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, Rab strode into the chamber, his cognac eyes hard, and snapped, "What the bloody blazes is goin' on here?"


	9. An Uneasy Truce

**9**

 **An Uneasy Truce**

Moira faltered at the look on Rab's face, his brown eyes narrowed to slits, mouth a grim hissing line, his hair flying every which way from his run up the stairs. Behind Belle, wee Rumple arched his back and hissed at the housekeeper, tail fluffed up. "Milaird, I was just pointin' out that ye canna trust a Fraser, even one that is married tae ye . . ."

"Quiet, lass! And ye'll speak when spoken to!" Rab snapped, and Belle thought if he'd had a tail like a cat he'd be lashing it back and forth. He toed the door shut. "Fraser or no, she is my wife _and_ the lady o' the keep, yer mistress! Ye would do well to remember that." He gestured to the table. "Now . . .let us sit down and discuss this like ration human beings, no' crazed maniacs." He held out his arm to Belle, who took it and allowed him to escort her over to the sitting room table.

Belle stared at him. "How did ye ken I needed ye up here?" she whispered.

"Physicians intuition," he smirked. "Nay, it was because o' the wee lass Lily. She told me ye might need assistance wi' Moira . . .and why." His countenance darkened again and stormclouds brewed in his eyes. He helped Belle to a chair and propped her foot upon a hassock before sitting down himself, across from his housekeeper, and folding his hands on the tabletop. "Moira, is it true that ye deliberately flouted Lady Belle's authority and did no' surrender to her yer keys?"

Caught between a rock and a hard place, the housekeeper stammered, "Och, well, ye see, milaird Rab, I thought it best if I kept the keys till her ladyship were able to be up and about, given the state o' her leg and all. An' ye ken yer papa likes things run just the way yer lady mother—may she rest in peace—did when she were alive. I meant no disrespect."

Rab raised an eyebrow. "Did ye no'? 'Tis true that my mama ran things tae her liking, an' when she departed the earth, my papa never felt like changing them because we had no lady o' the keep. However, that is no longer the case. My wife is the new mistress an' the old must give way tae the new, as is proper. I was also informed that ye dinna even discuss this wi' Belle, but took it upon yerself to keep the keys an' when one o' the young maids called ye on it, ye whipped her tae keep her from talkin'!" His eyes flashed. "Ye hae been housekeeper here since before I was born, Moira and ye ken well that no servant at Carlyle is ever whipped for such a reason!"

Moira paled. "That were no' the reason I took a switch to that wee fiend Lily! She were insolent tae me, who is her superior!"

"Dinna lie!" Belle cried. "We both ken that ye were angry that Lily spoke up for me . . .and questioned why ye hadna done yer duty and given me yer keys. And ye kent she was right to do so, and so ye sought an excuse to wallop her." She turned to Rab. "Rab, did ye see the marks on her legs?"

"Aye," he said grimly. "And I dinna ken why, Moira, ye thought a mere insolent remark was deserving of a thrashing better suited to a lass caught stealing or lying about her work bein' done or shaming herself wi' a lad? Unless Belle is right and ye beat her because she was stickin' up for her mistress?"

Moira swallowed, for Rab's glare was one that made her tremble from the heat of it. "I . . .I may hae lost my temper, ye see, because I dinna ken why she ought tae defend a Fraser over one o' her own clan. 'Tis the Frasers who cost me my Kenneth an' a chance at a happy marriage an' I dinna forget it!" Her eyes flashed.

Rab drew a deep breath. "Moira, I am gonna tell ye something I told both my papa and Belle's also when I came to sign my marriage contract. Wrongs hae been done on both sides of our families. By _both_ parties, ye ken? All o' us are equally guilty in no' letting the feud die, and perpetrating it to the next generation by reminding our children o' the wrongs done and making everything seem like 'twas the other one's fault."

"But it is! They killed my betrothed!" she cried hotly.

"Aye, and how many did we kill o' them?" Rab snapped back. "Belle could tell ye I'm sure that there were those of her house bereft o' a sweetheart or two! Isn't that so?"

Belle nodded. "My cousin's betrothed was killed . . .and many others."

"But it was _your_ kin who started it all!" Moira began.

"Enough!" Rab snarled, his eyes bright and shimmering like liquid flame. "Do ye n' ken it doesna _matter_ anymore who stared the whole thing! What matters, dearie, is that we _end_ it." He punctuated his words by smacking his hand down on the table, making Moira jump. "Belle and I were married for a reason—no' just because Queen Mary said so, but to keep the peace between our clans and keep us from killing each other. God's foot, but no wonder the Sassenachs are having such an easy time picking us off—we're destroying ourselves with these damned blood feuds! Can ye no' see that? I do, woman! And if we dinna end it, here and now, soon there will be nothing left, 'twill all be dust on the wind, and our names forgotten! Is that what ye want?"

"Och, nay . . ."

"Then stop with this dissension in my house!" he growled. "I hae enough to contend with outside without coming home to find my wife and her housekeeper at each other's throats. What's done is done. Let it _die_. Because if ye do not, then ye can find yerself another post, dearie, and mayhap another clan as well, do I cast ye out for a vitriolic troublemaking shrew who canna bridle her tongue!"

Moira went the color of old cheese at that threat, for she could see, as could Belle, that Rab was not bluffing. He might be mild mannered and a physician, but for all of that, he made no idle threats, and he _was_ laird when Malcolm was absent. And he would brook no disobedience to the royal writ he himself had been forced to uphold.

"Och, now, Rabbie, ye wouldna banish me! Why, I was yer mama's dearest friend an' hae been here since ye were a wee bairn squallin' at the light o' day! I saw ye take yer first steps and hold yer first quill—" she babbled, terrified she had overstepped permanently.

The sudden fire died in his eyes, and Rab said, more gently, "Aye, I ken that, Moira. But ye knew yer place when my mama was lady here. Seems like ye forgot it after being de facto mistress for so long." He spread his hands. "Look ye. I wouldna like to banish ye—but I will if ye force my hand. Belle is my wife, no' more a Fraser—"

"Of course I am!" Belle interrupted, an automatic response.

Rab bent her a rather stern look of disagreement. "—for when she married me, she became a _Carlyle,_ " he reiterated. "She is my clan now, as are ye, Moira MacNamara, and by our Lord and our queen who is God's anointed, I shall have no one break this fragile peace we hae achieved. Ye canna change what's past. Let it go, and start anew. In medicine, sometimes ye must cut away rotted flesh in order that new may grow and heal. 'Tis so here. D'ye ken?"

"Aye, milaird," the housekeeper said, inclining her head respectfully.

Belle laid a hand over her husband's and spoke. "Moira, I do ken where ye come from, and I am verra sorry that ye lost yer beloved. But 'tis like Rab said, we all hae lost someone in this feud. Shall we then never let it end, and all the old grievances be brought up again and again? Should we then hold the descendants of those who did ye wrong responsible for deeds they never committed? How is that fair? It isna, and I strive above all to be fair to everyone. I know ye feel that I am an intruder here, and no' suited to replace the old Lady Carlyle, but ye havena even given me a chance. I hae no' even been here three days and ye hae already judged me an' found me wanting. I realize I dinna ken this keep yet like ye do, and I miss my home. This castle is strange to me, but it is my home now and I must bide here. I would like if ye could help me adjust to it and the people here, and we could work together to run this place like it aught. However . . . all things willna be just as they were before. There are things we did in my home I would like to do here, and one o' those things involves the punishment o' servants. As lady, tis _my_ job to say who gets punished and how. Not ye. And I dinna hold wi' beating someone to teach them respect, anymore than I do wi' beating an animal. Ye teach respect wi' patience and kindness, no' fear and anger. And by example. 'Twas how my parents taught me."

Moira frowned. "They dinna switch ye?"

Belle shook her head. "My papa dinna believe in using unnecessary force on anyone, beast or man. He never struck a servant, nor allowed his children to do so, and on the verra rare occasions when he skelped my brother or one o' his daughters, he used only his hand, an' nothing more. He said that a skelping should sting sharply for a time only as a reminder, and what should sting longer was his disapproval an' disappointment. And that guilt an' shame were harsher masters than ever a strap could be and remorse a harder taskmaster to encourage one to do better than his hand."

Rab listened and found himself nodding in agreement. Marcus Fraser's methods, unlike many a Highlander's use of strap and fist to command obedience, appealed to him mightily, for he also was of a mind that brute force compelled obedience only for a time, and fear might make a man oey, but it would never make him love you, and when push came to shove, a man was loyal and fought for hardest for those he loved, not those he feared. Fear might win you a battle, and men might follow you because of it, but for a laird they loved, men would follow you into the gates of hell, and feel privileged to die in your name.

Malcolm had once commanded respect that way, by being canny like a fox and not by fear. His men had followed him, trusting him to be smarter, more cunning, and aware than their enemies. It was only after Ceri died that Malcolm began resorting more to fear instead of persuasion, and Rab had seen a marked decline in his clansmen's willingness to trust their laird.

That was one thing he had pointed out to his papa when he had accompanied the laird to the retreat, saying that he thought the drink brought out the worst of Malcolm's irascible side, and that was not such a good thing in a clan leader. Cool head, warm heart, shall call loyalty forth, he reminded Malcolm of the quote he had often spoken to both him and Jamie. And Malcolm had admitted, albeit reluctantly, that Rab was right. He had lost his way. But perhaps with Father Bryce's help, he could find it again.

Rab just prayed the Lord would prevent poor Father Bryce from going insane. Because heaven only knew Malcolm in a temper would test the patience of Jesus and all the angels.

"Yer papa was right, Belle. _Perfect love casteth out fear._ Not brute strength." He narrowed his eyes at Moira. "I dinna ever want to hear o' ye thrashing a servant again or fomenting rebellion against me or my lady wife, or else I shall exile ye like I would any clansmen who breaks his oath to me and hae ye driven from this keep never to set foot on Carlyle lands again."

Moira shook her head. "Nay, that shall no' be necessary, milaird. I am an auld woman, ye ken, and not so wise as I used to be. But this is my home, an' I made a pledge long ago to yer mother that I would take care o' her sons should anything happen to her, an' I hae tried to keep that promise, laddie, hae I no'?"

Rab clasped the hand of his mother's tiring woman and said, "Aye, so ye have, dearie. Remember, vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, and do ye extend that same promise to Belle now."

Moira extended her hand to Belle, and Belle took it in a warrior's clasp. "I pledge to ye, Lady Carlyle, that I shall be yer faithful and obedient servant, an' give ye my word to protect ye and yours, as long as I may, by Saint Brigid and Saint Andrew."

"So mote it be," Belle said. "And I in turn pledge ye to be a fair and just mistress, holding no grudge or strife, and to treat ye as my family, with all honor and caring, and such protection that is mine to give. By our Lord and his saints, I so vow." She repeated what her mother had always sworn to the new house servants.

Rab looked pleased that the quarrel had been mended, and said, "Now that's done, why don't ye show Belle around the keep, Moira?" He had an ulterior motive for that. He knew that the other servants had no doubt heard the fight between them and would be wary and nervous, unless they saw the two getting along. "And while ye two are doing that, I'll tend to Lily down in my infirmary." He had already sent the girl there after getting a glimpse of her legs.

"That would be a good idea, Rab," Belle agreed, knowing also how important it was for her image for the servants to see the lady of the keep in accord and in charge.

She went to rise and Rab handed her the crutches resting beside the table. "Now, ye take it easy an' dinna go traipsing up and down like crazy, ye hear me?" he mock-scolded. "If ye hae a relapse, I promise I'll tie ye to the bed!"

Belle blushed at the implication, and Moira sniggered and clucked at him, "Och, Dr. Rab, ye are incorrigible!" just as she had when he was a lad around Neal's age.

"Aye, and ye like me that way," he giggled, then said, "Mind ye make sure milady is careful, Moira. Or else ye also will be in trouble wi' me."

"Ye hae my word an' ye ken I dinna go back on it," the housekeeper reminded him, for though she still harbored resentment towards the Frasers, Rab's reminder that Belle was now a Carlyle by marriage and his threats to exile her made her realize how stupidly she had been behaving, and since she truly did love her mistress' sons and wanted to continue to serve the family she would do as Rab had urged and keep the peace between her and the new Lady Carlyle.

"Well do I ken that," Rab replied evenly. "I shall see ye later then, at the noon meal."

He made his way downstairs to the infirmary, where Lily awaited him.

As she watched her husband retreat, it was only then Belle recalled the other pressing problem she had that she needed to discuss with him—this other woman he had met while in school in Edinburgh.

She bit her lip. It seemed that would have to wait. She turned to Moira and said, with a somewhat wary expression. "Where shall we start first? How about ye show me the larder and storerooms?"

"Aye, milady." Moira curtsied and this time there was no subterfuge in her manner.

She held the door for Belle to proceed her with her crutches.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

The small crofter's hut that Rab had accompanied Malcolm to was high up near the mountains of their clan's property, a lonely little outpost on a hill surrounded by emerald meadows dotted with heather and a swift flowing stream. The shepherds put the sheep out to pasture up here in good weather, and they often came to drink there. Father Bryce had spent the better part of three days along with his altar boys cleaning the place and making it fit for Malcolm and he to stay in. There was about two weeks worth of firewood and peat stocked, after that they would have to cut some, which the priest reckoned was good exercise for his laird to do, and would keep the man's mind off drink, there was oatmeal, flour, dried cranberries, a slab of bacon, another of venison, and several kinds of vegetables, and a barrel of fresh water from the stream, another of apple cider, a barrel of perry, and tea of different kinds, with instructions from Rab on how to measure it and steep it.

Rab was still waiting for the packet of _kaffee_ beans from his mentor, and had given Bryce chamomile, mint, and another kind of tea that relaxed you to start with, in addition to regular Highland tea. Bryce had honey and brown sugar in a cone, and also there would be a boy from the keep to come every two days with fresh eggs, milk, and butter, which could be kept cool in stone crocks put into the stream.

The croft had been swept, dusted, and scrubbed, and there were two pallets made up with thick mattresses of sweet smelling alfalfa heather and two goosedown pillows as well as woven colorful blankets from the keep. Bryce had several beeswax candles, his Bible, and parchment and ink and quills so he could occupy himself writing sermons and also write down what occurred with Malcolm, like a daily journal. He also had several balls of yarn and knitting needles in a basket, for knitting was another way the two men could pass the time. In the Highlands, men as well as women could spin and knit. There were also fishing poles, lines, and hooks. Rab had also supplied a mini medical kit, just in case one of them happened to get injured and they couldn't reach him in time.

Bryce worried that might be the case when Malcolm really started feeling the effects of no longer drinking. He prayed that the laird wouldn't get impossible to handle, requiring him to tie him, though he had a coil of stout rope in the pantry if necessary.

He was already seated at the table composing his sermon for the next morning's mass when he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called out

Malcolm entered, saying, "Well, Father, I hae arrived." He bore a large pack over his shoulder which contained his clothes and a few other necessary items, like his razor and comb, and in his other hand bore a wooden case. He wore a dirk at his belt. "I brought my chess set, I figgered we might play of an evening by the fire."

"Aye an ye'll be findin' me a much better player than before. Tis good that ye've made this commitment, Malcolm. It will no' be easy but with the good Lord's guidance we'll whip this demon and send it screaming to Lucifer, ye ken?"

The laird gave him a wistful smile. "I shall pray that it be so." He set the chess set on the table, and went to put his pack on the floor beside one of the box like pallets.

A young servant entered holding Malcolm's hunting bow and arrows and also a case with a small harp. called a clarsach. Both Malcolm and Archie could play it. "Milaird, where do ye want this?"

"Over here, lad," Malcolm took the clarsach and put it on the table also, and told the boy to put the bow and quiver on the wall on the hooks designed for it. "'Tis just in case we see a rabbit or twa or for protection."

Then he bid the boy take his horse back to the stables and dismissed him.

"Ahh the clarsach! It's been a verra long time since I'd played...and might forget how!" Archie joked. He also remembered hearing Ceri playing it during a family gathering with him and her husband singing the songs of the Highlands along to the music.

"I havena played much lately, but they had a verra good bard at the Frasers while we were there, and it reminded me of how I used to play wi' Ceri in the hall some nights and sh, Jamie, and Rabbie would sing like a chorus of angels."

His wife had a beautiful voice, pure and true, and her sons had inherited that. Even Neal could carry a tune, though he was shy.

"Aye but twill be good to play again. The music will soothe the mind and the soul." Archie smiled wistfully. "Mayhap ye'll play again in the halls again, Malcolm. Ceri would want ye to."

"I . . .havena been able to since she is gone. I fear the music died when she did. But . . mayhap ye are right." His hands stroked the case of the small rosewood clarsach, with its sweet tone. "She gave me this, ye ken. 'Twas her morning gift to me." He undid the case and pulled the clarsach free to show Bryce the small mark on the underside of the harp, his initials and hers burned into the wood alongside the Carlyle crest.

"Aye I ken. She was a wee bit nervous when she came to me for confession before yer handfasting about what to gie ye for a morning gift...until she mentioned ye liked to play."

"I used to play for her when I came courtin' her. I sing all the auld love songs to her while we sat on the hills in the heather, or by the low stone wall of her garden, while her ladies sat some distance away and listened."

"Aye and d'ye remember the day she was cross with you when that McClaren lassie wanted you to play for her?" Archie asked with a grin.

Malcolm nodded. "She was like a wee wildcat, all hissin' and spittin' and lucky I didna get clawed to ribbons!"

"Saints preserve us, but I had to give her quite the penance for boxing the lass's ears!"

Malcolm chuckled. "Aye, and I was lucky she didna hit me into the bargain!" He brushed his fingers across the harp and the strings sounded a mellow tone. "Ah, my bonnie lassie still plays well. The strings I hae sent from Edinburgh are still good. Do ye remember when Jamie was a wee lad and got hold of Moira's shears and cut my Rosie's strings?" He called the clarsach Rosie, naming his instrument as any good bard.

"Aye and the puir laddie hid hisself under the pew in the church and wouldna come out, even I couldn't pull him out. A strong one, your Jamie."

"Aye, he was that, and a wee fiend at times." Malcolm shook his head. "I near wore my hand out on his backside, he was so stubborn. Ceri used to say he came by it honestly though, considering who his papa was."

The priest nodded in agreement. He gestured to the basket of yarn. "Ye havena forgotten all yer gifts, have ye?"

"Nay, Archie," Malcolm smiled when he saw the yarn. He called Bryce by his Christian name when they were alone. "I can still clicket and make stockings or scarves or even a cap if need be. And I can spin also."

He fished a small doll, a cornhusk doll with a knitted blue jacket and kilt out of his sporran and held it up. "I remember when Jamie made this for me. Look Papa, 'tis a soldier for ye' he said, only the stick sword broke one day." He had found the little toy one day after his son's death and had taken to carrying it in his sporran for comfort.

"I ken he was all o' seven then."

"Aye. The clever laddie once asked me if he could make one of the Lord and asked me what the Lord looked like. I couldna gie him a good answer."

Malcolm chuckled. "Aye, that's sounds like Jamie. He had a habit o' asking things that were impossible to answer. Once he asked Ceri why God made angels with wings an' no' people? And if he asked nicely, would God give him wings too?"

The priest chuckled. "He asked me why I dinna have a wife of my own."

That had been an odd conversation he recalled. He'd tried to explain the Lord's ways to the young lad but Jamie, curious child that he was, simply didn't comprehend it.

"Och, and he had a habit o' asking impertinent questions! Once he asked me why lads had willies and if lasses had gotten their broken by riding too hard. In front o' my guest, Bishop Gillespie! Good thing the bishop had a sense o' humor. Then again, he was only four."

Archie laughed. "Aye and Bishop Gillespie gave me quite the lecture over the morals of the children in my congregation.

"I can imagine. I wanted to sink inta the floor!"

"All yer lads have a bit of mischief in them, aye? Even Rabbie."

"Och, aye, I remember one time Jamie was devilin' Rabbie somethin fierce, an' Ceri had already given him a smack and sent him to contemplate his sins in the corner, but he wouldna stop, so Rabbie decided to get even wi' him, and when we had tea, he took the sugar bowl and put sand in it and passed it to Jamie. The lad dinna look and next thing ye know had sand tea!"

"And the lad spit it out...on me!"

"Do ye remember the skating incident in the chapel, Archie? When Rabbie and Jamie were supposed ta help ye polish the pews and instead they tied the polishing clothes on their shoes and dipped 'em in polish and skated all over the floor wi' them? And Rabbie almost knocked over St. Andrew and Jamie almost knocked himself silly skatin' around the altar?"

"Aye and twas a wee bit hard t' keep my temper ye ken if those boys woulda hurt themselves."

"I ken. I thought Ceri was gonna take a switch to them first . . .but I think makin' them serve as yer altar boys for a month taught them more than a skepling woulda."

"Aye. I made those boys scrub those pews until they could see their faces in 'em, mind the sheep, milk the cattle and gather the eggs from the hens...though one o' them had a nasty temper herself."

"Was that the one that nearly pecked Jamie's eye out and Rabbie chased around the yard wi' an axe?" The boys had been eight and eleven that year.

"Aye...they had a name for her but I cannae recall it at the moment...Auld age!"

"Neither can I, but wi' those two it was probably something verra funny!" Malcolm said nostalgically. "Jamie could never refuse a dare. He got himself into more hot water because o' that . . .why I remember he nearly kilt himself tryin' to ride that crazy stallion Gideon Mor . . .on a dare from the MacLeod chieftain's son Drew. I near had a heart seizure when I found out!"

"Those Macleods are a troublesome lot," Archie mumbled.

"Aye, but my laddie kent better," Malcolm sighed. "'Twas one o' his worst faults. That was one o' the few times I took my razor strop to him, I was that angry. And afterwards Rabbie snuck into Jamie's room an' darned if he didn't doctor his brother wi' Ceri's marigold salve! He was a physician even then."

"We all have our callings, Malcolm. Rabbie's is to medicine, mine to the Lord and mayhap ye will find yes here."

*yers

Malcolm looked doubtful. "Once I would hae said my calling was to lead my clan, but I fear I canna see my way clear to do that." He rubbed his eyes. His hands were trembling slightly.

"Ye must resist the temptation, Malcolm. The whiskey willna gie ye that clarity. Only by trusting in Him, in me and in yerself can ye go back t'the man ye once were."

From his readings, Archie recalled that tremors were a common sign among those trying to distance themselves from the drink as their bodies attempted to break their spirits by giving them discomfort until they surrendered to the temptation.

"Sometimes, auld friend, I think the man I once was died wi' Ceri an' Jamie. I dinna even ken wee Neal like I should." Malcolm groaned. "I need a drink. I'm parched." He licked his lips. Having gone longer than usual without the taste of alcohol, several hours since dawn when he'd awoken, he felt a sudden raging thirst.

"Then ye'll have some of my tea."

Malcolm scowled like a truculent child. "Bloody tea!" he groused.

"Aye or water but none o that rotgut!"

The priest eyed him pointedly. "Tis a different tea Rabbie brought to calm that demon that's chasin' ye."

"And do ye think tea can drive awa' demons, Archie? I kent that was holy water," Malcolm taunted. He felt as if he had remained in the sun too long and was dehydrating. Sweat sprang out on his brow. "Hae ye bannocks or cheese? My gut's wailin' it's got a hole in it. I havena eaten since early dawn."

"Aye, in the pantry. I'll fetch some."

Malcolm clenched his hands together, because they shook as if he were an old man with palsy. Afraid he might damage Rosie, he pushed the clarsach and case to the other end of the table.

"Lord Almighty, help me . . ." he prayed through clenched teeth.

In the pantry, Archie made the sign of the cross, closed his eyes and folded his hands in prayer. "Father, give me the strength to guide your lost sheep back to the flock of righteousness."

Malcolm was a stubborn man but Archibald Bryce could also be one when he put his mind to it. He was concerned for all the people in his congregation even when they strayed from the path and he felt it was his duty to guide them back, no matter how difficult the journey would be.

He made up a plate for his guest and returned to the table. Sweat beaded on Malcolm's brow.

"Have ye been praying to our Heavenly Father Malcolm?"

"Aye . . .but I fear I am possessed. I canna stop shaking," the other man whimpered, frightened by the sensations he was experiencing. "Play for me, Archie. Make me forget."

He grabbed a bannock and almost dropped it, then took a bite and began to chew determinedly. As soon as he had finished that he took a piece of cheese and ate it too, feeling starved.

The priest picked up the clarsach, smiling faintly. "I hope I dinna offend yer ears if I sound terrible," he said and began to play and sing.

Malcolm closed his eyes and let the music carry him away, while devouring his cheese and bannocks. He hoped that the tea Rab had given him actually worked, because now he felt as though tiny ants were marching to and fro down his back.

"Sing with me lad," Archie pleaded softly.

Malcolm swallowed sharply, then managed to sing the first few lines of the old ballad about a bonnie lass walking in the heather to meet her true love on May morn. His voice was rusty, but after a few moments it had warmed up and he could sing in a clear tenor. It helped a wee bit, not a lot, but some.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

 _The infirmary_

 _Carlyle keep:_

"Now ye just lie down here on the bed while I fetch what I need," Rab ordered quietly to Lily, whom he found standing up near his exam table looking uncomfortable, her hands twisting her apron about.

"Och, Dr. Rab, I really dinna need ye to fuss o'er me. 'Tis but a thrashin' an' I'll heal," Lily said, worried that she was taking up time away from Rab's other patients. She also couldn't fathom why the laird's son, physician or no, would be concerned with the state of a mere chambermaid. Physicians were for gentry, and common folk made do with herb women and midwives.

"Nay, lass, lay ye down," Rab turned and pointed firmly towards the bed. "Why should ye be in pain if I can help ye?"

He went to fetch his special salve of marigold and honey, which was good for soothing wounds and healing them. It was a salve his mother had always used whenever her sons had fallen and scraped themselves as lads and Rab recalled using it several times both for himself and his scapegrace lovable brother Jamie.

Rab took the earthenware jar labeled with his neat handwriting on parchment glued to the side of the pot and shut his cabinet, carefully locking it with the silver key he kept in a chain about his neck. His spare one was inside his wardrobe in a pouch. He never left his cabinet unlocked, having learned the folly of that several years ago when as a brand new physician he had done so rushing off to attend an emergency and one of the servant's little lass' just toddling had gotten into it and broken half his remedies, spilled a bunch more and swallowed a tincture that almost killed her.

Lily lay obediently on her stomach on one of his beds, and watched as he approached with the jar, a basin of water, and a clean cloth. "Ye dinna hae to go to any trouble—"

"Wheesht, lass!" Rab muttered. "Healing sick people is what I am called t'do, it isna trouble. Now, I'm gonna lift yer dress up enough so I can see yer legs, wash them with water and then put my salve on them," he informed her matter-of-factly. "Dinna fash yerself, lass, I will no' do anything improper to ye." He placed the objects on the bed and she stiffened as he picked up her skirt. "Relax, dearie. 'Twill be just a moment. Once I hae salved ye I want ye to rest here for a half-an-hour."

"A half-hour! Och, but I hae duties . . ." she protested.

"Duties which can wait an' doctor's orders which supersede any other authority here," Rab countered firmly. "Dinna worry about Moira either, she'll no' be beating ye again. From now on, any punishment to be meted out shall be done by Lady Belle or myself."

Lily felt a sudden glow of astonishment at the new arrangement of things, and she didn't even flinch when Rab began to gently sponge down the welts on her legs. She was a wee bit embarrassed at first but reminded herself that this was a doctor, and the tanist would hae no interest in a girl not even starting her courses yet.

Rab applied the salve deftly, using the tips of his fingers in a delicate glide to put the maximum amount of salve on the welts while putting the least amount of pressure on the injuries as possible. He heard his patient's indrawn breath as he touched several sensitive spots and murmured soothingly, "Almost done, dearie. Ye're a braw wee lassie." He grimaced reflexively while he applied the ointment, recalling another time he had done this—only back then he was a child and had done so to Jamie after one of their papa's rare thrashings with his strap for riding a half-insane stallion on a dare and almost getting kicked to death. But he didn't recall Jamie looking half as bad as poor Lily. Clearly Moira had a heavier hand than Malcolm.

Finishing, he capped the jar and wiped his hands on the rag after washing them in the basin with a bit of soap. "There now, Lily. Rest a wee bit, dearie. I'll send a gillie to call ye when lunch is served."

"Thank ye, Dr. Rab," the child murmured as he gently fixed her skirt and put a light sheet over her.

He ruffled her hair. "Sleep, lass."

Then he left the infirmary after putting the jar back in the cabinet and locking it, leaving the beeswax candelabra burning.

The pain in her legs lessening, Lily turned her face into the pillow and closed her eyes, smiling softly and thinking Rab the kindest healer she had ever known and the handsomest.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle was coming down the passage from the hot and steamy laundry room with Moira and reviewing the schedule for the next week with her when they heard a commotion coming from the bailey. It sounded very much like the Mongolian hordes or some kind of demon spirits had descended to wreak havoc on the keep.

She exchanged glances with the housekeeper. "What on God's green earth is that ruckus?"

"I dinna ken, milady," Moira said, raising an eyebrow. "Shall we go and find out?"

They hurried as quickly as Belle's ankle would allow up the passage.

There was a medium-sized crowd of onlookers standing just before the doors to the hall, watching an oddly entertaining drama unfold before them.

Apparently a large very ill tempered gander had gotten out of its pen and happened to come upon a toddler by the name of Jemmy eating a piece of bread and honey in the bailey, having wandered away briefly from the watchful eyes of his mama, who happened to be an undercook named Alanna.

The gander, spotting the bread in the child's hands, had commenced stalking the boy and trying to rip the bread from him and eat it, and when the child set up a howl, the gander hissed and tried to bite the running boy, who ran about the courtyard shedding tears and breadcrumbs like raindrops.

Alanna had raced out to see what was the matter and tried to drive the gander off by flapping her apron at it and yelling in Gaelic, but the gander turned and nipped her on the ankle, making her yelp.

Neal had been coming up from a day of hunting some peahens and grouse, carrying four fat birds on a leather line over his shoulder, his bow unstrung, when he saw the gander attacking both Alanna and Jemmy. Never one to ignore a damsel or a bairn in distress, he ran at the gander, yelling, "Awa' wi' ye, ye devil spawn!" and swinging his bow stave. "Before I make roast goose outta ye!"

The gander honked at this new threat and fluttered away, then turned and lowered its head like a snake, hissing at Neal, its beady eyes glittering.

Neal lunged, the gander lunged.

The boy batted the goose with his stave, but the gander, full of vinegar, darted in and bit the boy hard on the back of the leg.

"Oww! Ye bloody auld beast!" Neal yelped, backing away.

The hissing gander followed, and when Neal went to rub his calf gingerly, flew and attacked him again, this time biting him on the other calf, ankle, and backside.

Neal whirled, trying to beat the cantankerous bird to death, but the gander was too quick.

Alanna had snatched up Jemmy, who was sobbing, his hands sticky with snot and bread and she hooted encouragement to Neal. "Beat the wicked besom o'er the head, aye, Master Neal?"

Belle and Moira had just pushed their way past the gathering onlookers, just in time to see the gander contemplating another rush at the panting Neal.

When suddenly a brown-striped tabby and a smaller gold and white kitten with crumpled ears sauntered into the bailey.

Raine suddenly crouched down the ground, her tail twitching, gold eyes widening as she saw the feast of plump poultry before her. Rumple also saw, and growled, his green eyes narrowing.

Before the kitten could rush the goose, Raine made a soft half-mew and Rumple crouched beside her.

The cats stalked the goose, even as the gander stalked Neal, who gasped when he saw the two felines.

The gander, intent upon taking another chomp out of the annoying boy in front of him, didn't notice its peril at first. The cats were also downwind and even if they hadn't been, birds have no sense of smell.

As if by some unspoken signal, Raine flicked her ear at Rumple, who dated suddenly to the left, around a barrel, and as Neal backed slowly away, bow stave before him, the kitten growled and darted out in front of the gander, hissing.

The gander drew up with a soft honk, because though small, it recognized Rumple as belonging to that species that preyed upon his kind, and it was no fool.

 _Honk? Hooonk!_

It half-spread its wings in alarm, as Rumple pounced at it.

The gander turned to run, and screeched in horror as it saw an even bigger cat advancing on it.

 _Hoonk! Onk! Onk! Oook!_

Raine leaped, and landed half on the big fowl's back, clawing and biting.

The gander screamed and began running and hopping for all it was worth, with both cats attacking it.

People began clapping, cheering, and laughing to see the nasty bird put so neatly in its place by the two cats.

"Oh dearie me!" Moira chuckled. "If those two cheeties have their way, we'll be having roast goose for dinner."

Belle frowned, then said, "I suppose the nasty thing asked for it, attacking a bairn and Neal like that."

"Aye, 'tis possessed!" added another woman.

"Lucifer's spawn sure enough!"

"Get 'im, kitties!" whooped a little boy.

"Aye, I wanna goose pie!" cried Alanna. In her arms, Jemmy crowed and clapped his sticky hands.

"Now there's some warrior cats, aye?" Neal smirked, then went to bring his birds into the kitchen for Missus Mike to pluck.

Belle lingered to see whether the cats did catch the gander, but the gander, now that it was threatened with its own demise, suddenly flew down the road and back towards the pen, flying into it a moment later after squawking as Raine lunged at its backside and came away with a mouthful of feathers.

The two cats might have climbed over the wire pen but Winter saw them and bounded forward, tail wagging.

Raine, ever mindful of her dignity hissed and fled, but Rumple happily joined his collie friend in a game of chase about the barnyard, afterwards to lie sleepily in the sun, grooming his fur while Winter dozed beside him.

As the group broke up, Rab came from his infirmary and spotted Belle amid the throng of people. "What's going on now, dearie?" he asked his wife.

Belle told him, and Rab just shook his head, amused. "That wicked fiend is lucky he didna end up dinner tonight. Is anyone hurt? The wee laddie? Neal?"

"I dinna think Jemmy, that's the lad's name, was bitten. Ye'd best ask Neal yerself though."

Rab escorted her into the hall and to the dais, as the servants were beginning to bring in the midday meal. He saw Neal making his way over to the dais, and waved to him. "Neal, are ye hurt?"

The boy shrugged. "Dinna fash yerself, Rab. I'll be all right. Had worse from Papa." He rubbed his hand along his backside before sitting down.

His brother eyed him. "Neal, if yer hurting, dearie, ye can come see me in my office."

"Rab, m' fine, honest," his brother insisted.

"Ye'd say that if yer arm were cut off and ye were bleeding to death," the physician remarked somewhat sarcastically.

Neal rolled his eyes. "Quit bein' a mother hen, Rabbie."

"Imp!" his brother said exasperatedly, already making plans to catch his sibling unaware after the meal and haul him into his infirmary to make sure there really wasn't anything he need to worry over.

The meal was served, cuts of venison basted with red wine and parsley, cock-a-leekie soup, fresh bread, green beans and cranberries in a piquant sauce, mashed neeps, breem in a cream sauce, truffles, and for a sweet gooseberry tarts and shortbread sandwiches with blackberry jam and honey. Mead, wine, and perry was served, with Rab making certain Neal's wine was watered and he had only one glass and then drank perry and plain cider for the rest of the meal.

"How are ye and Moira getting along?" Rab queried as he ate.

"Better," Belle said, hoping to get her husband alone so she could question him about Zelena. "She showed me the storage rooms and we visited the laundry before the . . .goose incident."

Neal made a face. "Bloody spawn of Lucifer!"

"Neal! Watch yer tongue!" Rab rebuked. "You're no' in the tiltyard to use such language around a lady. Must I fetch a bar o' soap?"

Neal went red in embarrassment. "Nay, Rab. Forgive me, Belle. But that gander makes me want to go pluck a goose for supper."

"I ken ye would," Belle smiled at him.

The midday meal was almost done and people were relaxing with cups of mead and cider and nibbling fruit and sweets when a panting shepherd raced into the hall, his cap askew, to draw up beside the dias. "Milord Rab, 'tis a pack o' wolves attacking the sheep up in the east pasture! Me an' my lad Geordie drove 'em off but they kilt three ewes."

"Damn!" Rab swore. "I shall gather a party and we'll have ourselves a wolf hunt, Andrew," he promised, then looked around for the marshall and some of the huntfolk.

Wolves were always a danger when one raised sheep, or worse, feral dog packs, so Rab was not quite shocked, only wishing that the bloody wolves had waited until Malcolm were back to strike, because Rab was none too keen on hunting, but as acting laird, it was his duty to lead the hunt for the marauders.

"I'll go wi' ye!" Neal said eagerly.

"Have ye ever hunted wolves before, wee brother?"

"Once Papa took me, when I was verra small, but I wasna big enough to hunt. I am now though."

"Aye," Rab agreed. He turned to his wife. "Hopefully I'll be back before nightfall, Belle."

She clasped his hand. "Be careful, Rab." Her indigo eyes were bright with concern. She wanted to protest his going, he was a physician, what did he know about hunting wolves? But she held her tongue, not wishing to shame him in front of his men, and knowing that as tanist in Malcolm's place, he must lead the hunting party.

"Always, dearie," he promised, giving her a quick kiss on the mouth, then he beckoned to Neal and they strode off in search of the head huntsman.

 **A/N: Hope you all liked! Thanks to CJ for helping me with the scene betwee Malcolm and Archie.**


	10. Harsh Lessons

**10**

 **Harsh Lessons**

Belle felt her heart trip over itself like the staccato rhythm of a _bodhran_ , which was a war drum her people often used when going off to fight the English soldiers. She wanted to run after her husband and ask what he thought he could do, a physician, hunting a pack of wolves? Wolves that had killed his sheep and could kill a man if given the opportunity. And Neal too, though she knew that her brother Gavin had gone hunting when he was that age. Still, it made her panic, imagining the wolves closing in on the hunting party, red eyes and slavering fangs, ready to rend and tear her loved ones apart. She trembled and gripped her fork in white-knuckled fists.

Until she felt a presence at her elbow, and looked up to see a maiden, a little younger than she was, with long brown hair coiled into a coronet and wearing a pretty dress of amber with green embroidery at the bodice and sleeves and hem. She wore an _arisaed_ of Carlyle plaid with the yew crest pinning it together. She was slight and reminded Belle of a wren, with a sweet face.

"Hello. I dinna believe we've met," she greeted this newcomer, thinking she dressed too finely to be a servant.

"Och, nay. I just got back from visiting my mother," the young woman said, her eyes were the same shade of cognac color as Rab's. "I'm Ailsa, and Laird Malcolm's my uncle. I'm the daughter o' his younger brother, Raibeart. 'Tis who Rabbie's named after, ye ken." She curtseyed politely to Belle.

"Pleased to meet ye. I'm Belle, yer cousin Rab's wife," she explained.

Ailsa's eyes widened in astonishment. "Och, I had heard some talk but . . .I dinna ken whether to believe it or not. When were ye married? It must hae been awful fast, since neither my mama nor I were invited to the wedding . . ." the girl sounded rather hurt.

Belle made haste to disabuse her of the notion that she had been forgotten. "Oh but there was no wedding . . .no' yet. Ye see, Rab and I decided to handfast first . . ." Belle went on to explain the reason for the haste and reassure this new relative that she would be included in the wedding when the time came round. She showed Ailsa her foot and told her how she had broken her ankle.

The young woman clucked in sympathy, then said, "But 'tis good that Rab's been takin' care o' ye. He's the best doctor about in these parts, and I dinna say so just 'cause he's my cousin, ye ken. It's the God's honest truth."

"Aye, I ken," Belle said. "Do ye no' live here in the keep? Or with your mama and papa?"

Ailsa seated herself on the bench next to Belle, and signaled one of the servers to get her a cup of mead. She pulled a platter of cheese and bread over and began to eat, saying softly, "I live here half o' the year an' the other half wi' my mama. 'Tis been so since my papa died these seven years past. I was ten, but I still recall it. My brother Aidan was hunting wi' my papa and Uncle Malcolm in the forest when it happened."

Belle shivered. "Did yer papa fall off his horse?"

"Nay. He . . . was gored by a rogue boar. They werena hunting it, but the boar came outta nowhere and my papa was in its way—he threw himself in front o' Aidan . . .so the boar attacked him instead. Its tusk cut the great vein in my papa's leg . . .and he died ere they could bind it. Aidan an' Uncle Malcolm killed it though t'was too late. I still remember my mama's face when they brought his body home . . .it was awful!" Ailsa whispered, her expressive eyes bright with an old sorrow.

"I'm sorry for yer loss," Belle said.

"Thank ye. Anyway, 'tis why Mama prefers her house over in Meadowhearth, the village just beyond the next ridge. My papa, being the younger son, inherited no land, but mama's family had some, as my grandsire was the sheriff, and he gave them a house. When Papa died, she retired there and wanted me to stay with her half the year. The other half I spent here at the keep, being tutored in how to be a lady by my Aunt Ceri. But then she passed too and . . . things havena been the same, so I stayed with Mama mostly . . .until I heard there was a new lady at the keep and I decided to see if the rumors were true."

Belle smiled at her new cousin. "I am glad ye came, Ailsa. I dinna ken Rab had a cousin who was near my age."

"I am ten and seven," the girl said. "And ye?"

"I am twenty this past December," Belle told her. "And yer brother?"

"Aidan is three and twenty, close to Rabbie's age," Ailsa replied. "He an' Rabbie an' Jamie were like three mischievous devils when they were young."

"I canna imagine my husband as verra mischievous."

"Och, aye, he was!" Ailsa giggled. "Mischievous as a monkey, ye ken, but also always kind and gentle to others. When I was a wee lass I used to follow them around and Aidan used to shoo me away, saying I couldna play wi' them, but Rabbie always said he dinna mind an' let me come along."

"He does seem verra patient an' kind," Belle observed.

"Aye, he is that." Ailsa nodded. Then she looked about. "Where has everyone gone? Is Rabbie out tendin' patients in the village? What about Uncle Malcolm or wee Neal?"

"Nay. Yer uncle hae gone into retreat wi' the chaplain for a month," Belle explained softly. She didn't know whether to reveal Malcolm's true reason for the retreat, and not wanting to overstep decided it best to let Rab tell Ailsa if he chose. "And Rab and Neal . . .they hae just left for a wolf hunt!"

Ailsa crossed herself. "May Saint Hubert guard them," she prayed. St. Hubert was the patron saint of hunters. "How long ago was that, cousin Belle?"

"'Twas just about a quarter o' an hour past." Belle murmured, and drank some more mead.

Ailsa looked at her keenly. "Are ye scairt for them then?"

Belle swallowed hard. "Aye," she whispered. "'Tis just . . . Rab is a physician, what does he ken about hunting wolves?"

Ailsa put her hand on Belle's comfortingly. "Dinna fash yerself, dearie. Rabbie may be a physician now, but before he was, he could hunt as good as my brother an' Jamie. He kens well how to use a bow an' a rapier. An' wee Neal does too, Rabbie taught him. And they have the huntfolk too. So he isna helpless."

"I ken, but . . ." Belle bit her lip worriedly.

"I do ken how ye feel," Ailsa said sympathetically. "How about ye come up to the solar wi' me? Before I left three months ago, I was working on a tapestry, perhaps ye can offer me some pointers?"

Belle agreed, because anything was better than remaining in the hall fretting. Ailsa led her up the stairs to the solar, which was a bright airy room with window seats and a card table, several candelabras with beeswax tapers, and looms and spinning wheels as well as embroidery frames.

Ailsa's half finished tapestry was right on the frame where she'd left it, and as she set to work again on the heather filled meadow of a country scene, Belle found some very soft mohair wool and began to knit a bonnet for Rab, while she listened to Ailsa regail her with stories about Rab as a boy. In turn Belle told her about growing up a Fraser and some of the mischief she and her sisters used to get into, and her own ventures into animal husbandry.

Belle nearly asked the wren-like girl if she knew aught about a girl in Edinburgh Rab had courted called Zelena, but at the last second her heart failed her and she kept quiet. Then Rumple came in, and Belle introduced him to Ailsa and the two had fun playing with the kitten until the long shadows began to darken the courtyard.

And still the men had not returned.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

The supper hour came and went, and still the hunting party remained conspicuously absent. Belle was close to flying to pieces, her overactive imagination conjuring up grisly horrors as she forced herself to eat her soup. She barely picked at the roast partridge and rosemary-sage stuffing, or the custard berry tart with slivered almonds. Ailsa kept her company at the high table, and tried to distract her by telling her amusing stories of a pet raven she had, and while any other day Belle would have been delighted to hear them, that evening she paid barely any heed to the girl's chatter. Her heart was buried somewhere in the forest, wherever her husband had gone and had not returned from.

A fiddler and piper began to play an aria, but Belle found the music discordant and jarring, and she longed to run from the hall and into the woods, to do anything besides sit and wait like some silly maiden in a tale for the bearer of ill news. She came close to shredding the table cloth before a commotion at the front of the hall drew her attention.

"They're back! Dr. Rab and the others hae returned!"

Belle was on her feet in a flash, hampered only by her injured ankle, she limped determinedly to the hall doors and out into the courtyard. The torches had been lit and she could see by the flickering light that her husband was walking slowly into the bailey, leading Auriel, with Neal and the others of the hunting party behind him.

But Belle had eyes only for the slight man in the Carlyle plaid. Was he hurt? Had there been an accident?

"Rab!" she called, hurrying as quickly as she could across the bailey. "Are you hurt? Is anyone injured?"

"Nay. All o' us are fine. Except for my bonny mare. 'Tis why it took us so long to get back here." He indicated his beautiful palomino mare, who walked up three legs, and favored the fourth.

Belle uttered a cry of dismay. "Oh, Rab! Poor Auriel! What happened? Was it the wolves?"

"Aye. The wolves were holed up in a den deep in the woods, and we decided to smoke them out. They came all in a rush, ye ken, and I was on foot, because I had a torch and Auriel detests fire." As he spoke he was leading the mare around to the stables. "A great gray beast jumped me, despite my torch. I burnt its mouth, but it would hae savaged me if not for my braw mare."

A groom helped him untack Auriel, who stood with her head drooping, plainly exhausted and in pain from her leg. Belle stroked her nose.

"She came and defended me, kicked that hellspawn across the clearing, and she stood over me while I got up, but by then, there were several more, and even as I fought with one, another came for her. She dinna run, she stayed and fought . . .Azhir told me that an Arabian is loyal and possessed the courage o' a Saracen warlord, and she hae been trained for war . . .but when it was over, I found her on three legs, she must hae sprained a tendon, for she coulda walk. My huntsman, Rory, said t'was a bad one, and mayhap I ought to end her suffering, but I couldna reward her so. Thus . . . we were late coming home."

She saw that he was muddy and scratched, his hair askew, his palms abraided whether from the ground or holding the reins so long she couldn't tell. But it was the look in his eyes that moved her most. It was a look of weary fear, when he looked at the sorely wounded mare, fear that he might lose something precious, despite the care he had taken. She recognized that look, for it was the same as she had worn on many occasions when an animal she loved was hurt.

"Rab . . .it may no' be as bad as ye think," she said, putting her cool hand on his arm. "Let me examine her."

He coughed, his throat was dry. "With yer ankle, ye think ye can—"

"My ankle has nothing to do with my eyes or my hands," she answered. "I am a healer too. Now let me see," she insisted fiercely. "Hold her steady."

"Belle, be careful!" he admonished as she limped around to Auriel's off hind. Then seeing she would do this, despite everything, he went to the mare's head and began murmuring to her in Gaelic, telling her how brave she was and to be still and let Belle see to her leg.

Auriel buried her nose in her master's shirt, blowing softly, her tail switching, but recognizing the command to stay, remained like a statue while Belle gently touched the injured hock, feeling the heat and swelling with a sure hand.

Auriel quivered at her touch, but Rab whispered something and she didn't try to kick Belle or draw away from her.

Belle straightened after looking over the Arabian's leg, saying, "There's a lot of swelling, she's strained a muscle or tendon, I canna see how badly until we get the swelling down. I need a bucket of icy water and then warm wet rags, with a poultice wi' following herbs—an onion chopped fine, wintergreen oil, pepper, and willowbark mix them together with some bran to form a paste. Get me some gloves an' some bandages." She found she was barking orders like a chieftain to the stableboys and grooms, who were jumping to do her bidding, while her husband stood there, gently stroking Auriel and keeping her calm.

"You're a bright lass, a good lass, dinna fratch yerself, my bonny one," he crooned to the mare, his hands soothing her as he scratched behind her ears, putting her into a somnolent state, despite the pain in her leg. A shudder went through her when Belle had the groom help her lower the hind leg into a bucket of icy water, but Rab whispered, "Easy now, _mo cridhe,_ 'tis just water, aye?"

Auriel's eye rolled at him, but he swiftly rubbed a muscle in her cheek, relaxing the mare until she dozed against him, her dished nose pressing into his shirt. He cradled her head in his arms. He felt the way he did when he watched a patient, especially a child, trying to battle some disease, knowing he had done all he could do, and the rest was up to God and the determination of the patient to fight off the sickness. All during the long walk back to the keep, he had talked softly to his mare, telling her what a wonderful brave horse she was, a paragon among horses, and how grateful he was that she had saved him. He had reassured her that he would not let her die, that he would do everything possible to make sure she lived, and if she turned out permanently lame, as long as she wasn't in pain, he would breed her rather than let her go alone into the cold and dark.

Belle patted the horse's flank and said softly, "If I can get the swelling down, Rab, I can poultice the sprain. I think it's that rather than anything torn. Sprains swell a lot in the beginning. But then you ken that."

"Aye," he nodded. "A sprain is a sprain whether in a horse or a person." He was still hugging the mare's head to him, his face warm from Auriel's breath. "Then ye dinna think I'll hae to . . .put her down?"

Belle shook her head rapidly. "Nay, Rab! I've seen much worse. Once I set a lamb's broken leg, an' managed to make it fast so it healed good as new. This will heal too," she told him encouragingly. "It just may take awhile." She reached out a hand and clasped his larger one in hers. "Please trust me, Rab. I may not ken about running a keep like yer mama, but I do about animals. I was always out wi' them, watching and learning from our grooms and horse copers an' herdsmen. My mama used to think I was daft, an' so did my sisters, but they dinna ken how I couldna bear to see a wee beast suffer, an' be killed when if taken time an' care, they would heal like a man would. They had no voice to speak for them, so _I_ became their voice." Her eyes shone with unmitigated passion as she went on. "In Genesis, God bids Adam and Eve to take care o' all the birds o' the air an' the beasts o' the field. And I dinna think He meant just for us to eat, or to serve us an' then when they hae reached the end o' their usefulness to kill them. I think He meant for us to . . .treat them as we would our own kin, and to heal them when they were sick and comfort them when it was their time to go to heaven. For are we not all God's own creatures?"

"Aye, we are," he agreed, and thought that she had never looked more beautiful than she did now, with her indigo eyes flashing with the courage of her convictions. "And yer compassion does ye credit, Belle. Though some would say 'tis no' an asset in a healer, whether be he a doctor or an animal healer."

"But ye don't believe that, do ye?"

He shook his head. "Nay. I believe that compassion an' love help a patient as much as do the herbs and medicines. I ken that sometimes I must hurt in order to heal, but I dinna hae to like it. An' as much as I can, I seek to end pain rather than cause it. I ken plenty o' doctors who look upon a patient as just another body to ply their trade on. But I canna do so, and I am glad o' it!" he declared fiercely. "For the day I cease t' care about my patients an' see them as people is the day I quit practicing medicine, for then I shall no' be a doctor, but a butcher."

"Rab, hav e ye ever lost a patient?" she queried gently.

"Aye, some. The first was the worst one. But 'tis a fact o' life. We are born an' we die, an' God calls us all in His own time," he answered quietly. He didn't tell her that a part of him died with those patients, but he considered that the price of his healing them. And he recorded each one faithfully in his consult book, because sometimes you learned more from the failures than the successes. He also lit a candle for the departed on Christmas, in remembrance in case their families did not.

"I realize that. It was hard for me also, when I lost animals that I had become close to, or that were pets of friends and so on," Belle said, recognizing in him a kindred spirit. "My old herdsman Walt used to tell me no' to become so attached to the beasties because sometimes they died, but I canna help it, even now." She turned and asked the stableboy Danny for a soft cloth and a brush to groom and wash Auriel, and while Rab kept the mare quiet, groomed the horse, rinsing off the dirt, combing away the tangles and washing the small scratches the horse had acquired.

When she was finished, another groom had brought her the herbs for the poultice and the bran and warmed water. Belle pulled on gloves then and mixed the herbs, bran, and water together to form a paste, put it on a large soft cloth and wrapped it around the injured hind leg. She then wrapped it in place with several lengths of muslin bandages. "There! Now let's put her in her stall and give her some food and water. She can keep that on for twenty minutes, then we must change it again, and alternate cold and hot, for at least the next four hours or so. Do ye hae a time piece, Rab?"

"Aye I can get one from the castle," he said, then turned to Neal and asked him to fetch the clock from the mantle in his bedroom.

He led Auriel into her stall, which had fresh straw and her manger was filled with sweet hay and the trough with water. He put a blanket on her in case she grew chilled with the injury and then said, "Now what do we do?"

"Wait. Are ye hungry, Rab? Ye missed supper an' were out all day."

It was only then that he realized he was starving. He had been so consumed with worry and fear he had forgotten that he hadn't eaten since a brief stop for some ale and bannocks earlier in the day. "Aye. I am now."

When Neal returned with the mantle clock, which Rab put upon a crate, and then pulled up some hay bales to make a seat for him and for Belle, who refused to leave until her patient was finally able to rest comfortably, Rab asked him to please fetch him some supper and eat some himself.

"Aye, Rab. Ye want some o' everything?"

"Whatever we had for supper will be fine, Neal. Thank ye, lad. And bring a pitcher of mead or wine out too." He looked at Belle, with her ankle propped up on a smaller bale of hay, and asked, "How's the cast holding up? Do ye need a draught of poppy or willowbark?"

"God's truth, I hadna even felt any pain until now," she murmured.

"I'll have Danny fetch me some water from the pump," he said, and rose to retrieve his medical satchel from where it rested beside Auriel's stall. Once the lad had brought him a cup of water, he mixed some powder and gave it to Belle to take.

As she quickly swallowed the bitter draft, she said, "While I'm glad no one was hurt, I was worried about ye, Rab. I feared that ye had . . .met with an accident or . . .or been bitten when ye didna return home by dark."

"Forgive me for worryin' ye, lass. I shoulda sent Neal or Aidan on ahead, but I wasna thinking too clearly, ye ken? Auriel is like . . . well almost like my bairn, and . . .I . . ." he shrugged, unable to articulate what the horse meant to him.

"It's all right." She touched his arm gently and he felt a frission of warmth and desire flow through him. "Oh, I met yer cousin Ailsa this afternoon."

"Ye did? Then she hae returned from her mama's house? I'm glad, for she was always a good friend to me an' it hasna been the same here wi'out her. After my mama died, she decided to go back an' stay with her mama for most of the time, especially since my papa's gambling and wenching took over the keep an' t'was no longer a place for a lass of gentle breeding. But now that you're mistress o' the keep, things can mayhap get back to the way they used to be—more civilized an' less like a tavern, aye?"

Belle nodded. "I like her verra much, Rab. She's sweet an' tells the most interesting stories about ye an' yer brother Jamie an' Aidan."

"Och, nay! She'll be tellin' ye all my worst scrapes as a lad!" Rab put a hand in front of his face. But his eyes twinkled merrily.

Belle giggled. "She's funny an' she kens all about the villagers an' the castlefolk."

"I'm happy ye have made a friend. Ailsa is a bright lass an' makes ye laugh even when ye want to throttle her," Rab smirked. After the disagreement with Moira, Rab had feared his new bride would have difficulty fitting in at her new home, but his cousin could act as a buffer and show the others that Belle was indeed a good person, despite being a Fraser. Plus it was good for her to have another woman of equal rank around, who would be a confidante and not a servant.

Soon Neal returned with their supper, for Belle had decided now she was also hungry, and ate companionably on the hay bales, feasting on roasted partridge, stuffing, cod in a butter sauce, green beans, fresh bannocks with butter and honey, fruit, and berry custard.

After the repast, Belle rose and with Rab's help changed the poultice again, switching it for a cold one. Auriel was a bit twitchy at first, but soon settled when Rab went and held her head and spoke in that lilting tone to her.

Belle thought dreamily she could listen to Rab's voice forever, especially when he crooned Galeic endearments. She almost wished she were Auriel, so he would speak to her that way. To quiet the butterflies in her stomach at his seductive tone, she busied herself rewrapping the bandage about the mare's leg, then she limped back to rest upon the hay bales again.

Rab, thinking she might be cold, grabbed up a plaid from a stack in the tack room and brought it to her, tucking it about her shoulders. "Are ye sure ye willna go in now, Belle? I can get one o' the lads to help me with Auriel now, and ye can get some sleep."

"Nay. Would ye leave a patient o' yers that was still sick?" she countered.

"I wouldna," he conceded, then sat down beside her, snuggling up by her, and putting an arm about her.

There came the sound of several horses chomping their oats and hay, snorting and whinnying gently. A barn cat chased a mouse around by the feed bins, and gradually the grooms and horsefolk sought their own beds in the small crofts just for them, leaving the stable to the horses and their laird and lady.

It was then, when all was silent, and the only light was from the small oil lamp on a hook by the stall, and the moonlight filtering in through the loft windows, that Belle finally brought up a subject that had sorely bothered her since she had learned about it from Neal. "Rab, when ye were in Edinburgh, did ye . . .meet anyone there?" she began tentatively.

"Aye, I met many people there. At university an' also my mentor in medicine," he replied easily.

"Och, I ken that but . . .did ye meet . . . a lass there who maybe caught yer fancy?" she probed.

"A lass? I dinna ken what ye mean. Aye, there were lasses aplenty, but none that I cared for, much less one that would hae been acceptable for me to marry. I was too busy studying law and medicine to have much time for goin' out wi' anyone. Why do ye ask?"

"But then . . .ye did no' want to marry Zelena?" she stuttered.

Rab almost fell off the hay bale. " _Zelena_?! How come ye to know about her?"

"Neal told me that ye knew a lass by that name when ye were at university." Now Belle felt her cheeks heat with a ferocious blush.

"Aye, I did. She was the daughter o' Cora Miller, an herb woman that my mentor and I used to go to for fresh an' dried herbs for our tinctures and medicines. She was verra . . . she was young an' used to all the lads paying her court . . .but for some reason she fancied herself attracted to me . . . even though I dinna indicate I was interested in her." He felt himself flush also, thinking this was topic of conversation he hadn't intended to have so soon, especially not when they had only known each other a week. He swore roundly in his head, both for telling Neal and because Neal had wagged his tongue like a gossipy shepherdess.

"Then ye didna have feelings for her?" Belle pressed. "Only since she was below yer station ye didn't want to . . .encourage her?"

Rab was horrified at the direction his impressionable wife's thoughts had taken. "Just what did my brother tell ye?" he demanded, a trifle annoyed. "Zelena was a spoiled wretch who fancied herself in love wi' me. After spending time wi' her for an evening at a dance and witnessing how jealous an' wanton she got wi' a few drinks in her, I saw she wouldna suit me an' never saw her again. The feelings were all on her side, no' mine!"

Belle stared at him, trying to determine if he were telling the truth, or just trying to spare her feelings.

Rab met her eyes squarely and did not look away.

Suddenly he took her hands in his and said, "Listen, dearie. Zelena was long ago an' I was but a lad when I kent her, an' never did I feel for her what she claimed she felt for me. She wanted me because I was a laird's son, an' one o' the Bruce clan, a rich catch for someone like her, the herb woman's daughter. But I saw soon enough that she had the morals of a cat in heat, an' I dinna sleep wi' tarts. Trust me, Belle. I tol' ye when we first met that I wasna a man like my papa. I meant it. I dinna hae casual affairs an' I pledged to yer papa an' during our handfasting that I would be faithful to ye an' only ye. I hae never broken a deal in my life, dearie, an' I willna start now." His hand circled her wrist. "Put that skeeving wench outta yer mind, Belle. She isna my wife, _ye_ are, an' that is all that matters."

Impulsively, because she looked so hopeful, vulnerable, and at the same time seductive as Eve in the garden, with her hair coming loose from its hood and plaits to tumbled free down her shoulders, like a wild wood nymph, her eyes bright with anxiety, he leaned forward and kissed her.

His kiss set her alight like a pine dipped torch, and she found herself melting into his embrace, her arms wrapping about him, then kissing him back fervently.

Had they not been where they were, and she not been injured, Rab might have consummated his marriage right there. But he reined in his libido, because as he had said, he was no churl, and he wouldn't take advantage of her that way, or risking hurting her with his attentions.

Auriel leaned her head over the stall door and snorted, as if to say, _Get hold of yerself, ye rutting beast!_

Rab broke off the kiss reluctantly, taking his horse's unspoken advice. But he savored the sweet taste of her lips the rest of that night, as they sat vigil over the injured mare, switching the poultices until at last, at half-past eleven, Belle fell asleep on the hay, wrapped in Rab's cloak, her head pillowed upon his lap.

Rab's slender fingers threaded themselves through his wife's hair, finding her auburn tresses irresistible to play with. He thought she looked like an angel or mayhap a fae princess asleep among the heather, her pixie like features beautiful to behold, even in repose.

He placed another gentle kiss on her brow, and thanked God that her knowledge of healing beasts was as good as his own for mending people. He shifted slightly, finding that her head being in his lap was making him rather uncomfortable because it reminded a certain part of his anatomy that her was a beautiful woman, his wife no less, and he had not yet shown her "the garden of delights" as the Saracens termed it.

Then too, he had never been intimate with a woman, and he also longed to sample the delights that he had heard his friends and cousin Aidan boast of. He knew that most people would have assumed he had already done so, given where he had been, but the fact was he was shy around women and had been so busy pursuing his study of law and then medicine that he had no time for anything else, as he had told Belle. Then, once he returned home, grief over his lost mother and the same malady that had taken her struck the village and he was kept busy tending the villagers and later riding herd on his harum scarum brother Neal and also Jamie before he went off to fight. None of that was conducive to a relationship with a lass, and as he had said, he wanted nothing to do with mistresses after seeing the way his papa behaved. Nor did he wish to get some woman pregnant with his bastard, so he remained unattached and as virgin as the lass now sleeping upon him.

He smiled down at Belle and brushed his floofy hair from his eyes. "Ahh, Belle. After all this time, I ken what it means to desire a woman . . .and I also think I'm falling in love wi' ye." His finger traced the curve of her chin.

He was tempted to kiss her again, but he didn't wish to wake her. Nor did he want her to spend the night in the stables, like some common milkmaid. So he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the keep.

On his way upstairs he met a sleepy Neal returning from a late night walk with his collie, and said, "Lad, what did ye mean tellin' Belle about Zelena? That was something I told ye in confidence an' ye needn't hae gone blabbing like a fishwife at the market to her!"

Neal winced at the stinging tone, then said gamely, "I dinna ken ye wanted it kept secret, Rab. B'sides, all I did was tell her ye dinna love Zelena."

"An' ye made Belle think I might hae had an affair wi' the wee witch!" Rab said exasperatedly. "Neal, ye must learn to hold yer tongue."

The boy hung his head. "I dinna mean to get her vexed at ye, Rab."

Rab huffed exasperatedly. "Aye, well, what's done is done. Just remember fer next time." He reached the top of the stairs and headed into his chambers. "I just need to put Belle to bed an' then I can go an' sleep in the stable an' make sure Auriel doesna take a fever or something during the night."

Observing that his brother looked very tired and wanting to make up for his poor judgment, Neal said, "Dinna fash yerself, Rab. Ye go to bed an' I'll sleep wi' Auriel. I dinna mind and I owe ye anyhow."

Rab looked at him astonished. "Lad, ye dinna need to—"

"But I want to. I can sleep wi' my plaid in the stall next to her."

Rab yawned. "All right. I suppose it's no worse than when yer on sheep watch. Winter will keep ye company, an' I'll wake ye in the morning."

Neal nodded eagerly. "I can do it, Rab. Ye'll see."

Rab smiled and ruffled his hair. "You're a good lad, Neal. If it seems she's worse, ye come an' wake me. If no' I'll see ye tomorrow for Mass an' breakfast."

His brother grinned, then left him to grab an extra cloak from his room, Winter trotting alongside him.

Rab entered their room, found Missus Potts asleep in the alcove, then made haste to undress Belle and put her in a soft nightgown before gently laying her in bed. As soon as he had done so, Rumple appeared from beneath the bed and curled up on his mistress, purring.

"Hey, wee imp!" he greeted the crumple-eared kitten, and stroked the cat's head before he went to wash and undress himself.

He would want a bath tomorrow, he mused, but for tonight he would be content with a wash. Five minutes later, he blew out the candles, drew the hangings, and then crawled into bed beside his wife and the kitten, falling asleep an instant later.

 **Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

The morning sunlight streaming through the window as well as the bells down in the village chapel woke Belle. She stretched and blinked, realizing she was no longer in the stable, but in her own bed. She turned and saw Rab beside her, also just getting up. "Rab, did ye . . .bring me here last night?"

"Aye, milady. An' who else?" he teased, his hair falling charmingly over one eye. "I dinna want ye to remain there, so I brought ye to bed. Lady Carlyle ought no' sleep in a stable."

""Tis nothing I've no' done before," she laughed. "During foaling an' I slept in the fields during lambing time."

He shook his head.

"Did I shock ye then?" she asked, suddenly wondering if it had been wise to reveal her odd activities.

"Nay. I am no' surprised, for ye are as dedicated as I am." Then he said, "Come, milady, let us arise an' dress else we'll be late for Mass, an' Father Conan will scold."

Conan was the under priest while Father Bryce was on retreat with Malcolm.

Rab went to wake Neal, finding the boy slumbering peacefully in the straw, and they attended Mass together and broke their fast with scones, fruit, cheese and smoked sausage.

Over breakfast, Neal seemed sleepy and then recalled he had Latin and algebra today with Master Stuart, but he felt so tired he doubted he could concentrate. "Rab, would ye mind if I skipped lessons today wi' Master Stuart? After stayin' up last night an' all I really can't think straight."

Rab saw the boy was practically nodding over his trencher and said, "Aye. I'll write ye a note to give to him, an' ye can get some more sleep."

Neal smiled gratefully at his brother, then ate a scone with honey.

 **Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

It had been an interesting day at the retreat to say the least. Malcolm handled his first night being sober well and Archie had been relieved there'd been no need for the ropes to tie him down but the visit from Bishop Gillespie had been unexpected and his news was not pleasant.

Malcolm was rather surly that morning, his craving for drink making him snap at Bryce over their morning porridge, fruit, and bacon. He drank the tea Archie offered but snarled sullenly about it not being worth pig slop.

"Ye wanna be tastin' pig slop I'll give ye pig slop lad!" Archie said, his patience about at its breaking point.

Malcolm glared at him, his eyes red rimmed from staying awake half the night battling his demons. "Ye dinna ken how no' even having a bit o' ale to quench my thirst feels!" he griped. "I feel like a wee devil be gnawing my innards."

He stared morosely at his porridge. "Rabbie said I'd feel better! Instead I feel like shite!"

"Aye and a devil is gnawing at yer innards, ye ken and ye cannae beat it if ye continue to feed it!"

Archie sighed. "I know this isna easy for ye lad and ye'll feel worse 'fore your better I'm thinking but snapping at me like a dragon doesna help either."

The laird had the grace to look ashamed. "Forgive me, Father. 'Tis a wretched man I am. But my head is poundin' like an anvil an' I haven't touched a drop o' whiskey since two evenings ago." He massaged his temples. "Do ye think the Lord is punishing me for my wicked ways?"

The priest thought for a moment. "Aye lad mayhap. We all must do penance for our wicked deeds in one form or another. But He is also merciful to those who repent."

"I dinna ken He has much mercy for me right now," Malcolm said, gritting his teeth. His hands trembled suddenly and he couldn't even hold his cup.

Archie took the cup from his hands and set it down. "We must pray, laddie."

He was hoping the distraction would stave off the tremors.

"Let us hae Mass then, Father," Malcolm agreed.

So though they were not in church, Archie pretended they were and he conducted Mass, did a reading from the Bible about a man overcoming temptation with the strength of the Lord and then delivered a sermon also.

He'd been awake most of the night writing it, inspired by an incident from his own childhood, an incident that had saved him from a life of crime with his parents to a man of God.

It was a piece of his past no one save Bishop Gillespie had been aware of and the elder clergymen would not dare reveal what was spoken in confession.

Malcolm struggled to concentrate on the words spoken, the comforting ritual he'd known since earliest childhood. He licked his lips feeling like he was on Crusade in the Holy Land, and he was parched from thirst. But even thinking about drinking the tea made his stomach roll.

Archie handed him a cup of water.

Malcolm sipped it slowly. "Aye, Father. Now what did ye say?"

"I said laddie that as the boy floated in the river...to his own grave he thought... he heard a voice calling to him."

"Was it a kelpie, calling him to his death?" Malcolm asked, trembling.

"Nay lad, twas an angel who came to him to tell him that it was not his time and that the Lord had a purpose for him. His own father had been a slave to the ale when he was not tricking people, ye ken?"

"Aye. And was he cross as an ill-tempered badger an' beat the poor lad fer naught?" Malcolm asked dispiritedly. "Rabbie says I did so to Neal though I dinna remember it."

"Aye and to escape the puir lad ran away and fell into the river wi'out knowin how to swim."

"But the angel what did he do? Did he save the puir wee laddie?"

"Aye, by sending a shepherd to him."

"Did someone come by and rescue him then?"

"Aye..twas the bishop hisself who took the lad in and gave him a home."

"His Grace gave a beggar lad a home?" Malcolm raised his eyebrows. The bishop was a nobleman, the third son of the Earl of Mowbry.

"Aye when the lad explained his vision. He believed the lad was chosen by God to serve the people of this parish."

Malcolm blinked slowly. "It was YE, Archie. Ye were the lad ye spoke of. Am I right, auld friend?"

"Aye and though I hae dedicated myself to the Lord I hae nae been wi'out temptation."

He had never known all the story behind his chaplain's background, just that he had been fostered with Bishop Gillespie, as was common with the clergy.

"I hae never seen ye drunk, my dear," Malcolm said.

"Twas not drink I was tempted by but a lass."

Malcolm choked on his water. "Nay!"

"Aye and for a time I considered leaving the church but I couldnae and Moira... she dinna take it well."

"What happened?"

He looked away. "She ahhh...took a draught..."

"Nay! She took her own life?" Malcolm exclaimed, horrified.

"Lad, she's _yer_ Moira!"

"What? Ye mean my housekeeper? Ceri's Moira?"

"Aye. Dinna ye wonder why she's so cross wi' me when I visit?"

"Aye, but I dinna think . . . I always thought she loved Kenneth . . .or mayhap she never loved him the way it seemed."

"He came along after..."

"And do ye still hae feeling for her? Or she for ye? Is that why she never married?"

"Aye," Archie sighed.

Though he believed Moira's love for him had died the day he told her he could not abandon his calling.

"And still ye bide here . . . how do ye do it? And no' gi' in to the wantin'?"

"I keep busy...and pray."

"The Lord is wi' ye, my friend. Though I fear He hae turned away from me, since Ceri and Jamie died . . .I hae found no solace save in a tankard."

"And what hae it done for ye but make ye a beast to yer lads?"

Malcolm cringed at the scathing tone. "I . . . I was just . . .ahh Archie, I hae hurt my bairns wi' out meaning to . . .Rabbie told me so, but I dinna want to hear it. I promised my brother Rabbie I'd look after my niece like my own lass an' I drove her away too. Ceri would kick my arse did she see what I hae become. She'd beat me like a rug."

"Aye. She was a fiesty one your Ceri...like Moira. And 'tis for Ceri and yer bairns that ye had to beat this demon."

"Like a wildcat unleashed," Malcolm coughed. He put his head in his hands. "She was all the warmth in this world . . .and now she is gone I dinna ken how I can stop becoming my father."

"As I hae stopped becoming like mine and outrun the devils chasin' ye."

And by sharing the painful events of his past he hoped he'd given his charge something to think about.

Malcolm sighed. "I . . .need to do something . . .perhaps chop some wood for the fire, aye?" He was suddenly restless, filled with a manic energy. He also had much to ponder.

"Would ye like some company, lad?"

"Aye, if ye dinna think it terribly boring," Malcolm chuckled.

"Nay. I can still swing an axe...not that auld!"

"Now dinna cut yer foot off, Father!" Malcolm teased. "I dinna want to do penance forever for allowing my priest to kill himself. And Rabbie would murder me!"

Malcolm went outside to where the wood pile was, and the huge double stump upon which rested two sharpened axes. He began the job with his sleeves rolled up, but soon became sweaty and took his shirt off and hung it over the woodpile. As he settled into a steady rhythm, he began singing snatches of songs Ceri had liked.

Archie was sweating profusely and though he'd been taught it was a sin to be unclothed in public he believed the good Lord would forgive him.

Malcolm saw, and jested, "C'mon, Archie, laddie! Take off yer cassock n' shirt before ye faint like a lass in this heat. Ye still hae yer brais on underneath it!"

The day was strangely warm, he thought.

"But...ahhh all right lad but dinna be telling everyone!"

"And who would I tell?" the chief laughed. "There's no one here but me!" He mopped sweat from his brow with a rag and paused to drink some cider from a jug they'd brought.

Archie removed his cassock and shirt and set them down on the grass.

Malcolm eyed the lean priest. "Ye sure ye can swing that axe, dearie? I wouldna want ye to pull something." He himself was still whipcord and muscle from going on raids and practicing in the tiltyard with his men, despite being almost fifty.

"I'm no' that auld!" Archie protested, swinging his axe and bringing it down. "I was chopping wood when ye were chasing lasses!"

Malcolm hooted, then brought his own axe down, and chips flew as he broke a piece of wood into fifths for the hearth fire.

The melancholy that had gripped him, as well as the terrible raging thirst, receded somewhat as he focused on his task. The pile of wood for the fire grew.

"And I'll have ye know I hae to be chopping in the winter too!"

"Oh, aye! And His Grace did he make ye walk barefoot to school too?" Malcolm asked with a devilish twinkle in his eye."

"Nay but I had to clean the manor by myself."

Malcolm snorted. "I'll bet ye I can chop more pieces in five minutes than ye," he challenged.

Archie's eyes twinkled. "We'll see, lad."

As they began chopping, the exertion making sweat run in rivulets down their well-muscled backs and shoulders, intent up their contest, they did not notice that a visitor had approached the cottage.

"Ye see laddie...not so auld after all!"

Moira tensed at the familiar voice.

"Mayhap no', but I hae five pieces here for thirty and how many do ye hae?" Malcolm asked.

"Ummm...twenty..."

"Ah then I believe ye can cook supper tonight, aye?" Malcolm grinned. "And that's a good thing, Archie, because otherwise both of us would be needin' the jakes all night."

Moira frowned. _He wouldna abandon the cloth for me but he would for cards, aye?_

"Ye cannae cook wi' out burnin it!" Archie teased.

She came to the laird hoping she would find an ally in him for removing the Fraiser girl from the keep but the priest would also feel her wrath

"I learned how to wield a sword, no' a cookin fork," Malcolm coughed.

"My lord, what madness is this yer Rabbie's marryin' a Fraser...!" Moira raged. She trailed off when she noticed the mens' state of undress.

Malcolm turned slowly upon hearing a familiar voice behind him. "Why, Moira, lass what brings ye here?" he drawled, thinking that her timing couldn't have been more . . .providential had she planned it so. "Ye know why Rabbie's marrying that sweet lass Belle. Good queen Mary commands it so."

He strolled over to the second rain barrel and splashed himself. "Ye must pardon us, Moira, for hard work cleanses the soul, ye ken." He hid a smirk in the towel.

"And ye, Archibald Bryce, for a man o' the cloth ye seem to be trafficking wi' the devil as of late!"

"And what of ye, lass? Ye werena a cruel one before!"

"I'm no' a lass!"

Malcolm flicked wet hair out of his eyes and tugged on his shirt, thinking it was worth forgoing drinking to see this little argle-bargle.

"No but that doesna give ye the right to beat one!"

"Who's been telling ye lies? That Fraser?"

"'Twas the good bishop and ye know he doesna lie!"

The bishop had come seeking Archie earlier that morning and had been directed up to the cottage by several servants, after lingering in the hall to hear the current gossip.

Moira blanched. "I...I..."

"Ye're no' the mistress of the keep anymore, lass, and tis time ye accepted it."

"I cannae be the mistress of my own keep now can I?"

She glared at him.

"And why are ye smiling over there?" she demanded of Malcolm.

"Nothing, dearie." Malcolm said with a grin.

"So there is no way to change the queen's mind?"

"None. Ye'll need to adjust, Moira. The Fraser lass is here to stay."

"And we'll be discussing your penance, Moira," Archie said coldly.

"I've done my penance ye sheep's arse! Years of it!"

She spun on her heel and walked away, leaving him staring after her.

Malcolm's amusement was forgotten seeing the pain in his friend's eyes. "We'll take some of this wood in and I'll make ye tea," he offered.

Archie followed him into the cottage finding it odd that their roles had been reversed for the time being.

 **Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

While Malcolm and Archie were discussing their pasts, Rab went back to the stables to check on Auriel, finding Belle there already and reporting that the mare was doing much better. She showed him how the inflammation had gone down and she said that now that the swelling had been drawn, she could tell this was not a torn tendon, as they had feared, but a bad sprain.

"'Twill mend though, in a few weeks, wi' care. She willna be lame forever an' once 'tis healed I ken she'll be as good as ever." Belle said, feeding the mare an apple.

Rab heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks be to God an' St. Francis, and ye also, dearie." He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "An' now I must spend a few hours wi' my steward Burns, doing the accounts."

"I shall see ye later then," Belle said. She herself would finish up with the golden mare and then go and see Missus Mike to plan the next week's menus.

Rab was heading down the hall to Malcolm's study, where the ledgers were kept and his steward awaited him with the rent money for the month when he passed the schoolroom where Master Stuart usually held lessons with Neal.

" . . .do you think I am an idiot, lad, to be taken in by your lies and excuses? Well, I am not, and you cannot pull the wool over my eyes, lad!" Stuart was ranting. "I told you to have those passages translated and your laziness will not be tolerated by me any longer! And perhaps this will teach you the error of your ways!"

"But Master Stuart, ye dinna even read the note my brother sent ye!" Neal protested. Then he smothered a yelp as the irate teacher struck his palm with a small strap known as a tawse.

"I told ye . . . no . . .more . . .excuses!"

The furious teacher, his head pounding from another hangover, struck the hapless Neal's hands over and over with the tawse, beating the boy savagely, leaving raised welts upon his hands.

Until a hand clamped down on his wrist and yanked him hard, spinning him around to face a blazing eyed Rab.

"What the bloody hell do ye think you're _doing_?" he roared.

The teacher stumbled backwards, shocked that the tanist would interfere with what he believed to be a just punishment. "My lord, I was just administering a lesson to your wretched brother for not turning in his Latin assignment . . ."

"He doesna get his lessons wi' whips, ye bloody coward!" Rab raged, wrenching the tawse out of Stuart's hand. "Ye bloody Lowland bastard, what right hae ye to beat him over an assignment he didna do because he was helpin' me track down wolves an' watchin' over my injured mare last night? Did ye no' even read the note I sent ye?"

Stuart flushed. "I . . .I thought he was makin' it up . . .all lads lie to get out of work . . ."

Rab grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shook him. "Ye didna even look at the note, did ye, ye drunken sot?" he bellowed, for he could tell the man had a hangover, he'd seen the results of a morning after many times with Malcolm. And he was furious. "How many times hae ye cancelled lessons because ye were too soused to teach, an' yet when the lad comes to ye wi' a valid reason to not have his schoolwork done, ye whip him?"

Stuart, a lanky man with a prominent Adam's apple and a sinister goatee on his handsome face, gulped sharply. "I am allowed to discipline my students!" he whined in a nasal voice, because Rab was slowly throttling him.

"Ye call whipping a lad till his hand bleeds discipline?" Rab growled. "Till he canna hold a quill or a book? You cousin to a diseased jackal's arse! No one at Carlyle is ever treated so! Servant or laird's son. Ye ken ye only got this post because o' my brother Jamie. He felt sorry for ye, comin' outta the army wi' no livelihood an' so he convinced my papa to take ye on as a tutor. Only seems like ye enjoy beating yer students more than teaching them."

"'Tis not my fault if your brother is too stubborn and insolent to learn!" babbled Stuart.

"That's no' true, Rab. I do try . . .but Master Stuart is so boring he puts me to sleep most times an' other times he falls asleep at his desk!" Neal pointed out. He cradled his stinging palms on his elbows, blinking back tears.

"Aye, because ye're too drunk to teach properly," Rab growled, releasing the other man. "You're lucky I dinna whip ye for being a drunken sot. If this is the sort of man my papa hired, then perhaps 'tis time I found a new tutor."

"What are you saying?" blustered the tutor. "You would dismiss me over a mere skelping?"

"Nay, I will dismiss ye for being an abusive bastard to my brother, a drunken lout, an' an arsehole!" snarled the tanist. "Now get ye gone within the hour, before I throw ye out!"

"You don't have the authority—"

"In my papa's absence, I am laird here, shite for brains! Now-get _out_!"

When the tutor still hesitated, as if not believing Rab was serious, the physician lost his temper totally and grabbed the other man by the back of the collar and tossed him bodily from the room with a sharp kick to his backside.

"Get ye gone, varlet! Or do ye need a lesson with a strap?" Rab panted.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, the tutor dragged himself to his feet and fled.

A/N: There were some surprises this chapter, hope you liked them! Thanks to CJ for helping me with Malcolm, Archie, and the surprise connection with him and Moira. Sort of like another favorite book of mine-The Thorn Birds.


	11. Gentle Hands, Warm Heart

**12**

 **Gentle Hands, Warm Heart**

Rab gently soaked Neal's injured hands in a solution of soothing warm water and marigold juice, then he put some of his salve on them, and wrapped them in clean bandages. "There, how's that feel?"

"Better. Rab, do ye think Papa will be angry that ye dismissed Master Stuart?" Neal asked worriedly.

"I'm gonna discuss that wi' him later on today, after I go over the accounts wi' Master Burns. I dinna think ye have anything to fash yerself about, Neal. When Jamie and I had a tutor when we were boys, our tutor, Master MacLean, wasna verra strict, an' he favored using additional assignments rather than a tawse, an' he was a good teacher, he enjoyed teachin' us, an' made it interesting, so we wanted tae be learnin' what he taught. He also dinna keep us in the classroom only, but took us outside an' we sometimes had lessons there, for biology an' botany. Papa kens this, an' he also willna be happy wi' the way Stuart was handlin' teachin' ye. Now, I want ye to lie down an' rest, since ye dinna get much sleep last night."

"Aye, Rab. And thanks. I woulda knocked him down, the wee blaggard, but I ken ye dinna hit yer elders," Neal said. "But who am I gonna get to tutor me now?" He knew that teachers who knew Latin and Greek were not many in the Highlands.

"Well . . . happen I might speak wi' Belle, for she kens Latin an' Greek an' together between us, we might tutor ye," Rab said. "I can do the science an' mathematics an' she can do the English an' composition an' geography. We both ken history, so there ye are."

Neal beamed. "That sounds much better than havin' to hire someone. Papa will like that we save money." He knew as well as Rab that Malcolm was thrifty as were most Scots.

"Aye, he will. Now off wi' ye, lad. Go to sleep!" Rab waved the boy away, and began to clean up his infirmary before going to do the accounts.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

 _The retreat:_

Malcolm woke up in a foul mood that morning. He had flown into a beastly rage last night, breaking a chair into kindling, and swearing a blue streak like a devil, because his cravings for drink had become too strong and unable to control his temper, had caused an alarmed Archie to tie him to the bed lest he injure himself and the priest in his rage. He had also hidden Malcolm's bow, arrows, and dirk for the night.

After Father Bryce had released him from his ignominious position that morning to use the outhouse, he was now sitting at the table, nursing a headache that reminded him of ones he used to have after a bout of drinking.

"I'm sorry I had to tie ye, lad, but I had no choice," Archie said sadly.

Malcolm rubbed his temples, and grunted surly. He didn't want to be reminded of how he had behaved-like an animal-but the pieces of the broken chair in the corner were a pointed reminder. "This dinna seem to be workin', Father, like Rabbie thought," he replied glumly, eyeing the mug of perry with distaste. His body cried out for ale, whining like a toddler wanting a sweet.

"It willna if ye give up and let the devil tempt ye, laddie."

The priest knew well how difficult it was to resist temptation. He encountered it every time he saw Moira McNamara but the ale was a far more worse temptation than love.

"Ye must think of Rabbie and Neal, laddie and even your Jamie and Ceri. Would Ceri want you to keep being a drunkard t'yer bairns? The next time ye strike out, laddie . . ."

"Ye dinna ken how the thirst torments me," Malcolm whimpered. "Tis like a demon within me, poking an' prodding," His hands trembled and he clenched them upon the table.

He winced, recalling how he had nearly given his good friend a black eye last night. Though he couldn't recall if he had really been angry at Archie or because the drink made him insane with need.

"And it makes ye be a person ye dinna want to be. D'ye remember auld Dougal McLaren?

One of the troublesome of his clan, Dougal was now residing in an asylum after he'd killed his son in a drunken rage.

Malcolm shuddered. "No, I'm no' like that. I'd never hurt my bairns that way." But he recalled how easily the chair had splintered into kindling when he'd thrown it against the wall, and he could easily imagine lashing out at wee Neal instead.

"But ye could," Archie argued. "Now auld Dougie thought he could beat the devil alone and win...and he was trying until that auld fool Lachlan MacTavish gave him the ale thinking one time wasna gonna hurt 'im."

"But once he let the devil in he kept drinkin and drinkin until he dinna hear anything but the demon and when puir Jemmie tried to take the bottle away..."

He recalled Rab accusing him of striking Neal when he was drunk, more from irritation than discipline and he cringed inwardly. He didn't want to be like that anymore.

"He pushed his puir laddie out the window of the keep,"

Malcolm crossed himself. "May God rest his soul."

"It serves as a lesson to all who allow the ale to be their lord and savior. There is no Heaven awaiting them in the hereafter, only hellfire and brimstone."

The laird gulped softly. "Nay, Father. I want to be able to see Ceri in Heaven. She promised me she would wait for me at the gates, ye ken?"

"Then we need to make certain ye do, lad."

Malcolm took a sip of the fruit juice and grimaced. "Pah! I feel like I'm in leading strings again!" he grumped. "Rabbie promised me something called _kaffee_ , now where the devil be the laddie wi' it?"

"Give him time, laddie. He's probably busy at the keep this morning with his bride and Neal."

Malcolm sighed. "Patience hae never been my strong suit, Archie. Ye ken that." He sniffed the air. "Do ye have any breakfast for me, or am I on naught but bread and water?"

"Lad, I wouldna starve ye!"

Breakfast that morning consisted of bacon, eggs, crispy potatoes and poached eggs with toast. He set the plate down in front of his charge with a grin. "Is that starvin ye lad though wi' how ye cook, we would!" he teased.

Malcolm looked happily at the food. "Then 'tis well YE can cook, isn't it? The Lord will provide, aye?" He picked up his fork and began to eat hungrily, the craving for whiskey replaced by one for food.

"I dinna always ken how t'cook," he confessed.

"Who taught ye, then?" Malcolm asked while crunching on some bacon.

"The cook in the Bishop's household though he was a mean auld codger and took the switch to me when I burned the porridge."

Malcolm scowled. "I'd hae knocked his teeth out for that."

He shivered, remembering the painful lashing he'd gotten from the cook until the Bishop intervened. It was the main reason why Moira's beating of the lass Lilly bothered him.

"Well the Bishop sent him packing and replaced him with Robbie."

His friend looked at him. "Ye ken I was raised by my Uncle Angus after my papa an' mama passed from the sweat. An' Angus had the devil's own temper an' a heavy hand when he was angry." He looked down at his breakfast, ashamed. "An' I was just like that auld bastard last night."

He had been fifteen when they had passed, and since he was still three years shy of his majority, he could not inherit. So Angus was the defacto laird till his nephew came of age.

Archie nodded, remembering the many conversations they had about his uncle and how terrified his nephew had been of him during his rages. "And ye know now my da was the same."

He sighed. "The sins of the fathers shouldna be passed on to the sons."

"No . . .yet I fear the drink hae made me into my uncle. I dinna realize how much till Rabbie told me I had taken my belt to wee Neal for naught but some silly remark." Malcolm said guiltily. "I never woulda done that if Ceri were alive."

"Nay. But she's watchin' over ye, lad...and ye canna disappoint her by backsliding."

"I willna." Malcolm vowed, and then attacked the rest of his breakfast. It prickled his conscience that he had been unfair to his sons, and he could see that Rab had been right when he had lectured him now that his mind was not fuddled with drink. He recalled how his own father's expectations had made him crazy trying to meet them and his uncle's temper had terrified him. He had vowed to be better than them both with his own children.

"We'll hae Mass this morning after breakfast and...clean this up..."

"Aye, before Rabbie comes," Malcolm agreed, just imagining the shock on his son's face if he saw what his papa had done.

"I may try this _kaffee_ he speaks of myself."

Rab finished up his accounts, then decided to go and visit his papa, as a packet had come in with a messenger from Azhir with the promised ground kaffee and instructions on how to make it, which included an odd metal pot. He checked on Neal, the boy was asleep, and Ailsa and Belle were both tending to Auriel, Belle was changing her poultice and Ailsa was feeding her carrots. As he led out another horse, which was Neal's black gelding, Dancer, Moira came up to him.

"Rabbie, do ye mind if I come wi' ye to the cottage. I...need to see Father Bryce."

Rab raised an eyebrow, for normally the priest and Moira were like oil and water, but he supposed she might be concerned for the state of her soul, and said, "No, come up then, lass," and he pulled her on the horse in back of him.

"Thank ye lad."

"'Tis no' trouble. Dancer, get on wi' ye," he clucked to the gelding, who began to trot swiftly towards the cottage.

The flock of sheep scattered as the black horse came among them, then went back to grazing as they passed.

"Yer mama and I...we used to run wild in these meadows," Moira joked.

"So did me and Jamie." Rab laughed. "And once my fool brother nearly knocked his brains out trying to ride an auld ram. I thought Mama was gonna skin him an' hang him out to dry."

"Aye and ye both scared her when ye went skatin in the church when ye were supposed t'be polishin the pews and the floors!"

"Dinna remind me!"

Moira chuckled. "Aye and ye had to work a bit harder for the father, aye laddie?"

Rab nodded ruefully. "But it was deserved . . .and worse I had to hear Jamie bellyaching about how it was all _my_ fault! Ha! 'Twas _his_ idea . . .I just went along with it like a noddlehead, like usual." Rab shook his head. That had been back when he had hero-worshipped his older brother. "And he kept whining about how he'd have rather gotten thrashed than clean and _I_ wanted to beat him myself!"

"Bryce may be an auld fool but he never beat a lad."

"I kent that, even back then. And what we ended up doing was a worse punishment, which is why my mama and papa allowed it."

Moira nodded. "Aye...always too noble for his own good," she mumbled.

Rab raised an eyebrow. "Noble? He's no noble, Moira. Not like the bishop. He told me many times how he was a foundling the bishop took in as his ward. A lost lamb, he called himself."

"Well mayhap he had a chance to be something else...and he dinna take it!" she snapped.

The closer they got to the retreat, the more anxious the housekeeper was. Her previous encounter with Archie the day before had startled her...and reawakened longings that had been long since buried.

Rab halted Dancer to gaze at her in astonishment. "What do ye mean? Was he forced into the clergy?"

Bryce had always seemed such a devout man, and happy with his chosen path.

"Nay. Believed he was meant to serve God all his life. But..och laddie, I dinna want to talk about this!" she cried. "T'will reopen an auld sore wi' me."

"All right, I'm sorry," Rab apologized, seeing the housekeeper's agitation.

"Now then lad, let's see how your da is faring."

"Hopefully he is doing well. And he likes the _kaffee_ I'm bringing him."

Archie was outside disposing of the broken chair when he could see Rabbie approach on Dancer and to his surprise Moira was with him. "Rabbie! Tis good to see you, lad!"

"Hello, Father!" Rab greeted. "What happened?"

"Well ahhh...errr..."

Rab frowned. "Moira here wishes to ask ye a question. So I'll leave ye to answer her while I go and talk to my papa." He dismounted, tying Dancer's reins to the hitching post and taking his satchel inside the cottage.

Malcolm gulped nervously when his son entered the cottage while he was still in the process of cleaning up the wreckage from the night before.

"Papa, what in God's name happened?" Rab asked his father, frowning. "It looks like an army rampaged through here."

"I ahh...had a bad night, Rabbie," Malcolm confessed and raked a hand through his hair. "The cravings...got the best o'me, ye ken?"

"Papa, what did ye do?" his son cried, aghast. "Tell me ye dinna hurt Father Bryce!"

"Nay, lad, nay! He tied me before I did but...I lashed out at other things. Dammit, lad...this has no' been easy for me...the cravings gnaw at my innards."

Rab noted how pale his father looked, almost haggard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "Ye havena been sleeping well, have ye?" he asked knowingly. "What other symptoms have ye been having?"

"Fits of rage mostly, the shakes...canna keep my hand straight...and a chill in my bones..."

Even now his hands trembled. He picked up the broom and started sweeping some of the splinters from the kindling out the cottage door.

"I try to keep busy...to quiet them...and it holds them back for a spell Rabbie but no' long enough."

Rab sighed. "I spoke to my mentor in Edinburgh. He has told me that it will probably get worse before it gets better. The first week or two is hardest, as yer body rebels against the fact that ye are no longer givin' it what it thinks it wants an' needs. It's kind o' like a spoiled brat-whinin' and screamin' at ye for a toy. I ken 'tis no' easy, but ye must no' give in, Papa." He reached into his satchel. "Here's something that may help. This is a brew called _kaffee_ that they drink over in the Holy Land. It may take the edge off these cravings." He took out the packet and showed Malcolm the pot also. "Ye brew them in here. My mentor left me instructions. Would ye like to try some?"

"Aye! Been waiting all morning! And what kept ye, Rabbie? There wasna trouble at the keep, was there?"

Rab began reading the instructions Azhir had written, then after he had set the pot to boil upon the fire, said quietly, "No' o much trouble as well . . .a pack o' wolves came and attacked one o' our flocks and I had to organize a hunt for them. The gray beasts nearly finished off me an' Auriel." He told what had happened on the hunt, as well as how Belle had helped Auriel when they came home.

"She hae a fair hand wi' the beasts, ye ken. Like me wi' people."

"Aye and your mam was the same, laddie." Malcolm smiled wistfully.

Rab nodded. "True, now that I think on it. But then this morning I had to dismiss that Lowland bastard Stuart because I caught him whipping Neal!" Rab exclaimed angrily.

"He took a switch to my laddie?! The blackguard...he's lucky I wasna there, lad, or his hide would be tacked to my wall!"

Rab thrilled to have the old Malcolm back. This was the father he remembered from his childhood. ""Twas a strap, Papa, and he beat his hands bloody for no' doing his bloody assignments when I hae already given Neal a note to excuse him because he had been out all day hunting wolves an' then at night volunteered to sleep in the stable to watch Auriel. The rotten blackguard dinna even read my note, but he accused Neal o' lyin' an' he beat him! So I kicked his arse outta the castle an' he's lucky I dinna take the damned strap to HIM!"

"Good for ye, lad! If I ever see his sorry arse around he'd best run the other way!"

Rab exhaled softly. "I told Neal as much. He was worrit ye would be angry wi' him for makin' me dismiss Stuart." The doctor shook his head. "Papa, the bastard had no right to beat my brother wi' out yer permission an' ye never woulda granted him the authority, I ken it well. Yet the idjit insisted 'twas his right to discipline Neal an' I said that no one at the castle is ever disciplined that way. Even though I ken there hae been times when ye were drunk that ye gave puir Neal a few licks wi' yer belt-still it wasna like what Stuart did."

"I shouldna have done it lad...was behavin' too much like my da."

"Tis why ye hae to stop drinking, Papa. So ye dinna become like yer da an' uncle. I remember what ye were like before . . .but Neal doesna, no'really."

Malcolm nodded sadly. "And I dinna want him growin' up thinkin his da is a drunken arse!"

"No ye dinna," Rab agreed. "Ye were always fair about punishments before ye turned to the bottle after Mama passed. Even that time ye walloped Jamie for that stunt with the horse."

"I've got to beat this demon in me, Rabbie."

"An' ye shall, Papa. Ye must have faith. In God an' yer family. I hae something else that may help ye. It's a kind of meditation. When ye feel one o' the cravings come on, try and breathe this way," he demonstrated a technique that the monks used to keep themselves focused during fast periods. "And also, it might do ye good to get out-mayhap we can go fishing wi' ye, me and Neal. Maybe even invite Ailsa along with Belle."

"The lass can fish too?" Malcolm teased.

"Ye ken Ailsa does from when she was growin' up wi' us. And Belle says she did wi' her brother Gavin." His eyes sparkled. "She is a wonder and a marvel, is my Belle."

"Is there anything she doesna do?"

"She doesna hunt, dearie. An' she tells me that she isna so good at doing womanly tasks like cooking and I spin an' weave better than she does. She isna perfect, Papa, but that dinna bother me since I am not either."

"Moira is quite put out," the laird chuckled.

He went and poured a cup of _kaffee_ for Malcolm and got out the small bowl of sugar and one of cream from the coldroom. "Here, Papa, try this."

He scowled. "Aye, I ken. She and I had words over her treatment o' wee Lily an' her floutin' Belle's authority as Lady Carlyle."

"Och I think the good Father will tame her..." Malcolm said with a wink as he poured some cream into his cup and stirred in the sugar. He took a sip and sighed in satisfaction. "Ahh laddie, this puts the tea to shame!"

"I'd taste some, but we dinna have too much for me to be havin' a cup," Rab said. "I'll ask my colleague if he can send me more, and he said to drink two cups a day, three if ye believe ye need to."

"Aye and I might."

Rab went and got himself a glass of cider, saying, "Other than what ye've told me, how are ye feeling? Would ye like me to gi' ye a tea to help ye sleep? Do ye hae any trouble wi' yer stomach? Nausea? Yer bowels regular? Unusual thirst?" he queried, asking things that Azhir had told him were sometimes issues with other patients he'd had with trying to rid themselves of dependencies.

"A tea would help, aye. I am at my worst at night and hae a bit of nausea."

Rab nodded and reached into his satchel, pulling out a tin canister with some special herbal blend to help sleep and soothe nerves-and also a tincture of ginger and chamomile to be taken in water. "Here. This tea should be taken half-an-hour before ye sleep, two teaspoons in a cup o' hot water, steep five minutes. Ye can drink it plain or wi' a small amount o' honey, but no sugar. And this is tincture o' ginger, three drops in a half a glass o' water should settle yer stomach. Oh, and dinna drink the kaffee too close to bedtime, else it'll keep ye awake."

Then he pulled out some cinnamon pastries. "Ah, I almost forgot. Missus Mike made ye these." He put them down on the table.

The laird snatched one up and bit into it. "Och how I missed these. The good father canna bake worth spit. Dinna tell him I said so!"

Rab chuckled. "Few can match Missus Mike wi' her baking," he acknowledged, and then ate one himself. "Now dinna eat too much, Papa, or else ye shall grow like a house!" he teased. "In fact, ye should eat lots o' greens an' fish an' chicken, to gi' ye energy an' oatmeal and oat bread and apples will keep yer bowels from blocking up. As will drinking water an' other liquids."

"And how will I be no' growin like a house eatin all that?"

"Well, ye should be walkin' around, mayhap a walk every evenin' or morning or riding to keep ye fit." Rab told him, which was what he told all of his patients. "Or some kind of exercise ye like. I hae heard that sometimes when people try an' quit drinkin' they crave food instead-the wrong food, lots o' sweets n' bread an' fruit. So ye must watch, Papa. And eat only a few times a day and exercise. Like ye used to do when ye were younger."

"We had a bit of a game going on chopping firewood," Malcolm giggled. "I won of course...the puir Father tried to keep up...then Moira showed up and he got all flustered!"

Rab smirked. "Just what is goin' on wi' him an' Moira? She also seemed rather upset this morning when I asked her about him."

"Well lad I may be tempted by the drink but wi' the Father twas a lass."

Rab's jaw fell open. "Ye canna be serious! The auld Father! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

"Aye...Moira fancied him as a lass ye ken but the Father woulda abandon his calling an she's been bitter since."

"Och, no wonder she dinna come to Mass when he is there!"

"Aye but the feeling is still there...and I'm thinking the Father may still find a way t' see her wi'out being her husband."

"If God wills, he may," Rab said thoughtfully. Though it was hard for him to imagine the older man, who he had always associated with being like a father to him, as young once and sought after by none other than his housekeeper!

"Well, I ken that's part of what they're going to talk about along with her penance for puir Lily."

"Aye, they need to. And I need to make sure Lily is healing. I'll examine her later today. Would ye like to go for a walk wi' me now, Papa? I need to stretch my legs, been doin' accounts all morning."

"Aye, I would laddie."

It would give him a chance to spent time with his son, time he needed and once he was well again, he would try to be the kind of father both of his lads deserved.

Rab looked pleased. "We can talk about this fishing trip while we walk," he suggested, and then rose, putting his satchel over hs shoulder. He almost never went anywhere without it.

As they left the cottage, Rab observed that Father Bryce and Moira were quite engaged in a conversation.

Moira's knees were shaking when she approached Father Bryce. When Ceri had been alive, she attended Mass faithfully though seeing Archie at the pulpit reopened the old wound in her heart she'd attempted to close when she and Kenneth were handfasted. She'd never spoken of her lost love to him, only Ceri and Bishop Gillespie knew her secret and her dear friend had taken it to her grave. She'd loved Kenneth but not with the same passion she felt for the priest she met when she was a young lass of twenty only she hadn't known then that was what he was.

Her heart ached again as she recalled that day seeing him on the meadow sitting against the trunk of a tree, a book in his hands. Her mistress Ceri was having dinner with her betrothed and his family at the keep and young Moira had gotten bored in the servants' quarters, often taking long walks.

 _"Who are ye and why are ye trespassing on these lands?" she demanded. "Get ye gone, varmint or I'll be sending the dogs after ye!"_

 _He chuckled without looking up from his book. "Aren't ye a spirited lass?"_

 _"Ye'll be seein' how spirited if ye don't mind me!"_

 _He looked up then and she found herself blushing. He was a handsome lad five years her senior with ginger hair and eyes as blue as the ocean she'd never crossed but heard tell from her mistress who had travelled a bit._

 _"Lass I can assure ye, I'm no' trespassing. I was invited."_

 _"Oh? And who would be invitin ye to the keep and why are ye not in the house?"_

 _"T'was the laird himself and I am travelling with Bishop Gillespie," he replied._

 _"Oh? As what?"_

 _"Well...this is to be my parish and what better way to introduce myself than at a handfasting?"_

 _"Ye mean ...?"_

 _"Aye..."_

 _"But aren't priests...auld? Bishop Gillespie is auld..."_

 _He laughed again. "Dinna say that t'him lass. He might take offense."_

 _"He takes offense to me now."_

 _"Why, lass?"_

 _"Well...ahhh...I dinna attend Mass every morn..." she said sheepishly._

 _Moira had always been difficult to get to attend Mass even as a child, often borrowing from Queen Bess of England's bag of tricks and feigning illness much to her parents' dismay or she would sneak out of the house and spend the morning in the meadows._

 _When she did attend Mass, she would often fall asleep in her pew, Bishop Gillespie's long sermons doing little to hold her interest._

 _"Oh! So ye're the lass he spoke of!"_

 _"And just what did that auld codger tell you about me?"_

 _"Lass! Ye must have more respect for a man of the cloth!" he scolded gently._

 _"Well mayhap I would if he didn't talk so long and put me to sleep!"_

 _"I'll be holding Mass tomorrow morn lass."_

 _"Ye will?"_

 _"Aye. I canna say I willna talk long but I hope to hold yer interest."_

 _Everyone in the keep was shocked the following morning when Moira was awake before the rest of the household and eager to attend Mass._

 _Even Bishop Gillespie was flabbergasted to see his most difficult parishioner sitting in her pew, listening to the young man's sermon with interest, never once nodding off as she had nearly every time he spoke at the pulpit._

 _As time went on, the young woman became confused when her thoughts about her chaplain took a different course, one further from reconnecting to the Lord than she'd planned. For in her mind now, she no longer saw him as her chaplain but a man she loved...and wanted to marry._

 _Little did she know that Archibald Bryce was just as conflicted. Marriage was forbidden by the Holy Mother Church for a priest ordained and though he had devoted himself to serving the will of God, he began to ponder if perhaps the Lord had intended him to follow another path. To be a husband to Moira MacNamara._

 _One day while she was in confession, Archie was stunned when she'd been silent most of the time._

 _"Is something troubling ye lass?"_

 _"Aye."_

 _"What is it?"_

 _"My heart."_

 _"Are you in pain? Should I seek a physician?"_

 _"A physician canna cure me of this Father. I love someone, ye ken and I am afraid to tell him because I fear he doesna love me...he loves someone else more."_

 _"Has he given you any signs that he returns yer affections?"_

 _"I dinna know!" she cried. "I see him every day...and he is always the same to me...kind...but we talk and nothing more."_

 _"Have ye given him any signs that ye're fond of him lass?"_

 _"Well...ahh...I could..."_

 _"But ye canna be too bold, lass."_

 _"I'm no' a tart!" she snapped. "All right, if ye want me to gie a sign, I will!" She stood up and left the confessional. He came out a few seconds later._

 _"Moira lass, where are ye..?"_

 _She turned around and cupped his face in her hands and kissed him._

 _Archie was frightened and elated at the same time. Had someone seen what she'd done the tongues in the parish would wag mercilessly and label her a scarlet woman or worse. He feared God would strike him dead where he stood for being as Adam in the Garden of Eden surrendering to temptation when he'd taken an oath that his body, heart and soul belonged to the Lord and no other yet he couldn't deny the joy he felt at last knowing that her feelings for him were as strong as his was for her and he returned her kiss with equal ardor._

 _"Moira, lass..." he whispered when he broke their kiss._

 _"I love ye, Archibald Bryce and even if God strikes me dead, I dinna care. I canna stop!"_

 _"And I love ye, Moira MacNamara...may God forgive me I do...but I've taken a vow..."_

 _"Ye can break it!" she cried._

 _His eyes widened. "Break with the Holy Mother Church? Is that what ye are askin o'me?"_

 _"I..."_

 _"What ye are suggesting is blasphemy lass!"_

 _"D'ye consider our love a blasphemy, Archie?" she inquired hurtfully._

 _"I...Nay! But I canna marry ye!" he moaned. "Lass, when I was a young lad an angel came to me and told me I was called to serve the will of God...and I have...but if I abandon my calling..."_

 _"Ye can marry me and still serve the will of God!" she argued._

 _"Aye but ex-communicated from the Holy Mother Church as Queen Bess's father? The shame of Christendom?"_

 _"Ye wouldna be a shame, Archie. Dinna think like that!"_

 _"I would, Moira..."_

 _"Nay! There must be a way!"_

 _"There isna..." he said somberly._

 _"Then ye dinna love me! Ye're lying to me!"_

 _"Moira, lass..."_

 _"Ye are! Ye can serve yer God, Archibald Bryce, if that is what ye want. But dinna come back to me later and expect me to take ye for my husband. I'll not hae ye!" she sobbed and ran out of the church._

 _Later that evening he sought guidance from Bishop Gillespie. Both were aware that reforms were being made in the Church but unfortunately allowing an ordained priest to marry was not one of them and his heart was shattered when young Ceri came to the church in a state of hysteria to tell them that Moira had ingested poison and had it not been for her physician finding an antidote the young woman would have perished._

 _Moira awoke to find Archie sitting at her bedside, praying. "I dinna want to hear ye praying over me, Father. Get out!" she demanded in a cold voice._

 _Everyone was stunned at the woman's treatment of their chaplain but when they questioned her about it, she would simply say that God had abandoned her...and nothing more._

Upon Ceri's passing, she dedicated all of her time to running her dearest friend's household and rarely attended Mass but would still see Archie when he came to minister to the family. She tried to avoid him as much as possible and was often cross with him when he attempted to speak to her. Yet all those years in spite of her bitterness toward him, he'd always treated her with kindness and in her heart she wondered if part of him still loved her as she loved him though his devotion to his faith would always keep them apart.

"Father," she greeted coldly. "Ye want t'see me?"

"Aye. Tis concerned I am wi' your behavior toward the Fraser lass and the the rest of the household. Why did ye beat puir Lily? T'was not like you."

"I hae been the mistress of the keep since my dearest friend passed on, ye ken? The Fraser lass dinna ken nothing of runnin' a household and of all the lasses to wed, the queen shouldna hae given Rabbie a Fraser! Murderers, the lot of them!"

"Lass, there hae been enough bloodshed on both sides. The Queen wishes for peace as does the good Lord and a union of the clans will bring this about."

"Don't ye be callin' me a lass, Archibald Bryce, when we both know I'm too auld to be one!" she snapped.

"Nonethless, ye abused that puir lassie and ye must do penance," Archie said firmly.

"And what would ye hae me do, Archibald Bryce? Polish yer pews?" she inquired sarcastically.

"Ye can burn that switch for starters!" he shouted. "And ye'll be attending Mass daily to pray to the Lord for forgiveness. No feigning the ague as ye used t'do when ye were a lass and if ye willna attend Mass at the church, ye'll come here or I'll be sending one o' my altar boys to fetch ye! I willna lose ye to the devil, Moira MacNamara, and beating that puir lass invited him into yer heart!"

"No..."

"Aye! Ye've become a cold woman in yer aulder years, Moira, and I dinna like it. I'll beat back the devil 'fore he comes to claim ye even if it kills me!"

"Why?" she demanded.

"Ye know why!"

"I want to hear ye say it!"

"Ye're one of my parishioners and I minister to all, even when ye're as cold as a winter morn t'me."

"That's no' what I want to hear!"

"Then what do ye wanna hear?"

"The truth, damn ye! But if ye willna say it I will. I love ye still, Archibald Bryce, may your God strike me down for it!" she sobbed. "D'ye know why I dinna want to attend Mass? Seeing ye at the pulpit, knowing it was what kept ye at a distance from me, what will always keep ye at a distance from me makes my puir heart bleed again and again!"

"But ye were handfasted to Kenneth..."

"I dinna love him the way I love ye!" she cried. "He never knew it, God rest his puir soul. Only Ceri knew."

"Moira, lass..."

"Has God taken all of the love yer heart has or is there some bit o' it left for me?"

"There always was," he confessed, his eyes meeting hers. "And to see ye knowing I canna be a husband to ye hae been my penance all these years as hae ye being cold t'me."

"Archie," She buried her face into his shoulder and felt his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Moira...ah lass...were I a less devout man I would marry ye now," he murmured and raised her head and kissed her softly. "And had I not taken my holy orders when we met I would hae married ye."

"Tis unfair, Archie, that ye canna serve God and be my husband," she wept. "Were ye of the new kirk ye could."

"Moira ..."

They'd had this discussion before, many years ago, the year following Kenneth's death. Only he knew that Moira no longer followed the Holy Mother Church and had kept her secret. There were a few secret Protestants in the Highlands and though he did not agree with some of the new faith's doctrines, he had adopted a policy of tolerance.

"I took a vow to serve the Holy Mother Church and that I will continue to do," he insisted. "But no amount of prayer nor penance will ever take away the love I hae for ye!"

"I dinna want there to be a distance between us again!" she cried. "I canna bear it, Archie."

"Moira, I canna be your husband. Ye ken that."

"But ye love me!"

"Aye, I love ye. But I have made a pledge to God that I canna break, even after all this time."

"Then we'll go back to what we were before...Archie, nay. I willna hae it. I will take the draught before I am parted from ye again!"

"Dinna say that!" he cried. "Dinna even think it!" He held her tighter. "Moira...oh Moira it nearly killed me t' see ye in such a state all those years ago...and that I was the cause and I prayed, oh how I prayed that the Lord would gie ye a husband ye deserved!"

"Kenneth was a good man...but he wasna ye, Archie. Had we wed, we would hae been friends, raised bairns...and little more. I just never thought those damned Frasers..."

"Lass, ye need to let go of yer hatred of them. It's making ye cold, colder than ye were t'me. Ye hurt that puir lassie badly wi' yer hatred. Ye must accept that a Fraser is now yer mistress. Gie the Lady Belle a chance Moira," he pleaded.

"I'll try, Archie, but ye dinna gie me the answer I need. What can I be to ye if no' yer wife?"

He smiled at her and caressed her cheek. "I will seek the Lord's guidance, Moira and mayhap He will give me a solution. Will ye come to Mass in the morn or must I send one of my altar boys to fetch ye?"

"Nay, I will come. Tis penance I must do for hurting that puir lass."

"Aye. And burn that switch. I dinna want t'see it in yer hand or hear of ye using it again."

"I willna," she vowed. "The laird needs ye now. He had a bad night, dinna he?"

"Aye and I had to tie him. Dinna like it but he was in quite a rage. For a moment I saw my da in him..."

"Archie!"

The priest sighed deeply. "Now d'ye ken why I want ye to burn that switch and mend yer ways, Moira MacNamara? My da took a switch to me as was his liking and that was why I ran away. Had the good bishop not found me..."

She held him tighter. "Why dinna ye tell me? Ye told me many things after Kenneth died but never that."

He'd been a comfort to her in the year following Kenneth's passing but as before and after sharing so many secrets with her that no other man of the cloth would have dared to with those not in their profession, her hopes had been renewed that he would change his mind and marry her. Once again he refused her and her bitterness returned. She'd vowed that day to never let him into her heart again but it was impossible when she saw him so frequently over the years.

"I dinna want to," he admitted. "I canna let Malcolm surrender to the devil, Moira. His lads need him clear headed and strong as he was when puir Ceri was alive. Has no' been easy but I'm not giving up on him...even now."

"I wouldna ask ye to," she murmured. "And I dinna want to make things more difficult for ye but promise me I can see ye from time to time even if I canna be your wife."

"Ye willna be cold t'me, lass?"

"Nay." She chuckled. "But the tongues will wag a bit seeing me changed, aye?"

"Well lass, ye are doing penance," he reminded her with a grin then gave her a chastising look. "And part of it lass is making peace with the Lady Belle."

"I'll try but it willna be easy."

He kissed her and patted her hand. "I have faith in ye, lass. Until the morn, Moira."

They were both smiling while they waited for Rabbie and Malcolm to return from their walk and for the first time in years, Moira MacNamara was filled with hope that the Lord would at last be merciful and grant her heart's wish.

Rab bid goodbye to his father and Archie after they returned from their walk, saying, "I shall talk to Neal, Belle, and Ailsa, Papa and come back in three days to see how ye are faring. Moira, hae ye finished yer business wi' Father Bryce, or shall I pick ye up later?"

"No, no...we're finished," she softly, her eyes meeting Archie's.

"Fishing would be good, lad...I may do that myself," Archie said, his eyes never leaving Moira's.

"Och! Ye canna fish worth spit!" Moira retorted.

"Ye know I can, lass," he teased.

"Ye fish for people's souls, aye, Father?" Rab put in. "For dinna Christ say I shall make ye fishers o' men? See, I havena forgotten all my catechism ye taught me!"

"And tis a good thing, laddie or I'd be making ye polish my pews, wash the statuary and beat the dust out of the rugs as I did when ye and Jamie were my altar boys."

"I always hae a better memory than Jamie!" Rab grinned.

"Aye but ye werena afraid to get in a little mischief too."

"Aye, I was an imp sometimes, like Neal." Rab admitted.

"And gave me, your mam, and your da gray hairs!" Moira muttered.

"Och, but Moira, Jamie gave ye half o' them," Rab taunted. "I think the worst things I ever did had to do with giving away our Christmas dessert tae the Gypsies camped nearby an' then bringing chicken pox home by mistake cause I thought the rash one boy had was from stinging nettles when I was nine!"

"And half the keep was ill with them!"

"Including ye, I believe," Rab recalled.

"Aye and I was nearly driven mad with the itching!"

"Ye? I was sicker than a dog!" Malcolm declared. "Laddie, ye were lucky I didna skelp ye over that, but ye looked so guilty and pitiful that I couldna do it, especially because 'twas Christmas an' we were all too sick to enjoy it."

"Papa, I canna count how many times I apologized for that," his now-grown son chuckled. "And we were lucky the Frasers didna raid us and take over the castle!"

"And then I contracted it because I had to gie ye all Mass at the castle!" Archie laughed.

"Aye, an' ye had verra spotty attendance that morning!" Rab smirked impishly.

Since chicken pox was a relatively new disease to the Highlands, they had not known how contagious it was and thus several members of the congregation had attended Mass looking fine but really harboring the disease and passing it on to others.

"Well thankfully we dinna see that spotty plague again!"

"Well, even if we hae another outbreak in the village, none o' us shall catch it since we did already," Rab reminded them. Then he took Moira up on his horse and they cantered back to the keep.

"Well lad, let's try some of that _kaffee_ ," Archie said to Malcolm after they were out of sight.

" Tis wonderful, auld friend. Wait till ye taste it," Malcolm declared, and went to pour Archie some. "Ye fix it like ye do tea."

"Hmmm...tastes a bit different than my tea...but verra good lad, verra good."

"Rabbie thinks that this, along wi' prayers an' meditation, exercise an' a diet with lots o' greens, chicken, fish, apples an' oatmeal will help me beat the demon o' whiskey."

"I believe it can too, lad. How are ye feeling now? Better?"

Malcolm nodded. "Aye. I just hope that my wee laddie is as glad to see me as Rabbie was."

"He will be when ye go fishing a changed man. 'Tis your goal to reach, lad and with the Lord's good grace, ye'll succeed."

"I shall," Malcolm said with renewed determination, feeling more confidant than he had since his wife had died. "An look what Missus Mike brought-cinnamon pastries!"

"Wonderful since mine taste like...well...I canna even describe it!"

"I dinna _want_ to describe it!" Malcolm snorted. "Best ye stick to sermons, Archie, an' no' baking!"

"Ye dinna complain about my other efforts!" Archie reminded him.

"Because those were edible!" Malcolm said with a wicked smirk. "But yer scones, lad, could be used to fortify the castle wall!"

"Och, dinna exaggerate, laddie. They werena _that_ overdone!"

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle had just finished putting another warm compress upon Auriel's leg when Rab and Moira rode into the yard. Rab handed Dancer to a groom while he went to see how his mare was doing. He found his lady leaning against the side of the stall wrapping the leg, her crutches beside the door, while Ailsa brushed the mare's neck and cooed to her in Gaelic, calling her "pretty lady" and "golden one" among other endearments.

"And how are you all faring today, dearies?" Rab greeted quietly, not wishing to startle the mare.

But Auriel spotted him and pricked up her ears, whinnying at him happily.

"Hey there, lass," he reached to stroke his mare's dish-shaped nose and scratched her ears.

Auriel got a glazed adoring look in her eyes and Ailsa giggled. "For sure, Rabbie, but ye've made another conquest. Yer bonnie mare loves ye!"

"Auriel is verra loyal and she loves wi' her whole heart," Rab said, smiling. "So I see ye've become Belle's assistant."

"Aye, and I dinna mind it. Ye ken I've always liked the beasties," Ailsa said.

"How is the mare doing, milady?" asked Moira.

Belle straightened and let the mare's hoof down gently. "Her leg is mending slowly but surely. I managed to get the swelling down and am trying to decrease the pain in the leg now with different poultices." She put a hand to her back, which was stiff from bending over.

Moira saw and said solicitiously, "Ye seem tired, milady. Would ye like me to run a hot bath for ye so ye may bathe before coming to supper?"

"That would be lovely, Moira. Thank ye, for I dinna need to be coming to supper smelling like horse!" Belle chuckled. Then she recalled her ankle and said, "Och, Rab, how do we deal wi' the cast?"

"Wrap it in some oil cloth and be careful not to put it in the bath, dearie," he advised.

"I can help ye, Belle," Ailsa said.

"I'll just tell the lads to start bringing up the water an' the tub," Moira said, and bustled away.

"While they're doing that, I can let the last poultice remain on for another ten minutes, then remove it and rewrap it," Belle told her husband. "How is your papa?"

"Well, he had a bad night, but seems much improved this morn. He liked the _kaffee_ and he'd like to go fishing soon wi' me, Neal, ye, and Ailsa. I havena done that in years wi' him, though we did so often enough when I was a lad wi' Jamie."

"Rab, it sounds splendid! And we can ask Missus Mike to pack us a lunch too." Belle said eagerly.

"Good! Ye arrange that an' I'll tell Neal," Rab said.

"When shall it be done?"

"How about the day after tomorrow?" Rab suggested.

Belle nodded and said she would plan a lunch menu with the cook this evening.

Just as she was getting ready to unwrap the poultice, Rumple appeared around the corner of a haybale, jumped on top of it and then walked along the top of Auriel's stall and onto the mare's back. Showing no fear whatsoever, the crumple-eared kitten boldly sat down upon the palomino's back and began licking a paw, purring like crazy.

"Och, Rumple!" Belle gasped.

Rab stared too. "Has he done this before?"

"Nay, no' that I ken," Belle murmured. "How verra amazing!"

"Auriel doesna seem to mind him there," Rab observed.

The golden horse turned, blew at the kitten, and then went back to munching some grain in her feed bin.

Rumple began washing his ears, licking at his paw and rubbing diligently.

Belle suppressed a giggle at the wry sight of the tiny gold and white kitten perched atop the golden mare, like bird atop a statue. Then she removed the poutice and rewrapped the leg with more soft bandages.

"Do ye need help getting upstairs?" Rab asked.

"No, I'm fine, Rab. Why dinna ye check on Neal? I havena seen him since this morning," Belle counseled and gathering her crutches, made her way into the keep.

As she did so, she remarked, "Moira certainly seems to have had a change o' heart towards me."

"Aye, I think it's because o' Father Bryce. She spoke with him awhile today, an' the good Father doesna tolerate mean spiritedness towards anyone," Rab said, sure that had been one of the topics of conversation. He debated whether to tell her what Malcolm had said about the priest and the housekeeper, but decided to wait till they couldn't be overheard.

"Well, whatever he said must hae worked," Belle smiled.

"Father Bryce's lectures often do," Rab told her. "He hae away o' makin' ye regret yer mistakes wi' out yelling and damning ye to hellfire, yet ye feel repentant an' try yer best to no' sin again."

"Has he been wi' yer family long?"

"Aye, he's been here since my papa was a lad. In fact, he an' my papa are good friends, hard as that may seem to believe since my papa's behavior often leaves something to be desired."

"Sometimes ye will listen to a friend before ye will family," Belle said. "At least it was so wi' my brother Gavin."

"'Tis true."

They walked into the keep together, then Rab parted ways with his wife after they had gone upstairs to see if his brother were still asleep.

He found Neal awake and asked if his hands were all right. "Let me put some more salve on them, dearie," he ordered.

Neal made a face, but submitted to the treatment. Then he asked, "Rab, did ye talk wi' Papa?"

"Aye, scamp, I did. And he wasna angry at ye. He wanted to beat up Stuart, like I told ye," Rab related. Then he told Neal about the fishing trip.

Neal looked shocked. "He truly wishes to fish wi' me?"

"Aye, he does. I think he wishes to make amends for treating ye so puirly, Neal. Would ye be willing to gi' him a chance?"

Neal thought about it. He had felt more fear than love for a long time because of Malcolm's drinking, but he also longed to have a father like other lads' fathers, who played with and loved him because he was Malcolm's flesh and blood. Slowly he nodded. "Aye . . .but Rab, it'll sure be different that what I'm used to."

"I ken that. But now mayhap ye'll see that he wasna always a drunken idiot. Once he was a good da to me an' Jamie."

"When Mama was alive. I think I remember, a little."

"That's right. Now how about ye wash up an' come down to the hall for supper?"

"All right," the boy said.

Rab left him alone then, returning to his own room to see how Belle was making out with her bath.

When he entered the room, he found a wooden bathing screen had been set up and several towels hung over it. He approached softly, and saw his wife sitting up in the large tub, her cast wrapped and propped upon the edge of the tub, while Ailsa helped her wash her back.

Rab's mouth went dry at the sight. He could just make out his wife's shapely figure beneath the bubbles and the mere thought of what lay beneath that soapy coating made him long to jump into the bath with her.

She hadn't seen him, hidden partially as he was by the screen, so he was free to unabashedly admire his wife, and silently curse her injured leg, and then scold himself that good things came to those who waited and he certainly was going to be glad he had when Belle was fully healed.

But it was so damned hard! _You're killing me, dearie!_

Yet he would not trade it for anything.

 **A/N: Hope you liked this part. Just to let you know-I may not be updating this or any of my stories soon since my oldest sister is terminally ill with cancer and she may only have a week left to live, so I am trying to spend as much time asI can with her. All I can say is I pray daily for God to not make her suffer. I wish I could have finished this story for her, but there's no chance of it now. But like Yours, Mine, and Rumplestiltskin's, which was dedicated to my late mom, this one's for you, Angela. Love you always.**


	12. Loss

**12**

 **Loss**

"I got one! I got one!" Neal cried excitedly, reeling in a large bass from the lake to wave it triumphantly in Rab and Malcolm's faces. "Look, it's bigger than either of yours!"

"By what, this much?" Rab laughed, and held up two fingers with a tiny bit of space between them.

"Don't count yer chickens afore they hatch, laddie," Malcolm declared, casting his line out again. "The day is no' over yet. But ye did well wi' the one ye got."

Neal was inclined to prance about a little more until Belle reminded him, "Dinna boast _too_ much, Neal. For pride goeth before a fall."

That wiped the smirk off the boy's face and he quit bragging and put his fish in a bucket of water with the others they had caught, keeping them cool till they were finished fishing.

Ailsa and Belle each caught a fish, though they weren't as big as Neal's. The girls laughed and splashed each other and then they turned and splashed Neal and Rab.

"Wretched lassies!" Rab yelped.

Neal did too and cried, "Ahh! That's cold!" Then he scooped up some water and splashed them back.

Belle and Ailsa shrieked and giggled.

But by mistake Neal's splashing also hit Malcolm.

The laird's eyes widened. "Neal Carlyle! Did ye just splash . . . _me_?"

Neal's eyes suddenly grew wide in alarm. "Papa, I-I . . .didn't mean to." He was sure now his father was furious with him.

He waited for the roar of rage, his father's hand to slap him.

Instead what he heard next was Malcolm . . . _laughing._

The older man wiped droplets of water from his face, giggling, then he mock-growled, "Now ye're in for it, laddie!" Then he ran into the lake and jumped up and down, creating a terrific wave that swamped Neal and wet his plaid thoroughly.

Ailsa and Rab began giggling like loons. Both of them recalled how Malcolm had been when they were children—not cross and irritable but playful as a seal and full of mischief.

Neal, who had never seen this side of his father, gaped like a half-wit when he realized Malcolm was actually _playing_ with him. "Papa!"

Malcolm smirked. "Next time behave!" he wagged a playful finger at his son. "Or else I'll dunk ye, brat!"

"Neal, behave?" Rab scoffed. "Papa, that's like asking a cat not to chase mice!"

"Rab!" Neal scowled.

"Aye, and 'tis the pot calling the kettle black, Rabbie!" Ailsa reported gleefully.

"You be quiet, Mistress Impudence," Rab ordered. "Because ye were in just as much trouble as I was!"

"The two of ye were a pair o' imps!" Malcolm chuckled.

Belle was pleased to see Neal and his father laughing and joking as opposed to the boy being terrified of his father as he had been lately and she enjoyed spending time with all of them, She and Ailsa were becoming as close as sisters. It did make her miss her family a bit though.

She had been enjoying their outing immensely, even though she had to sit down to fish. The cast was kept dry by several yards of tanned seal skin, which shed water like a duck's feathers, so she wasn't worried about it getting wet.

"It is wonderful to see them laughing again, Rab," Belle whispered to her husband. "Neal needed this so much."

"Aye, he did. Actually, we all did," he murmured. "Ye see, I had forgotten what my papa used to be like. Only now . . .I remember. This is how he used to be~when Jamie and I were wee lads. And Ailsa and Aidan too."

"Being in retreat with Father Bryce has served him well. I was a bit worried when you came home and told me he'd gone into one of his rages and the two of you managed to talk some sense into him...where is the Father by the way?"

"I believe he's gone out walking with Moira, tending to a few of the parishioners that couldna make the church services."

Neal giggled and said, "Now we scared away all o' the fish!"

"No, laddie. They'll be back. And this time I'll catch the big one!" Malcolm boasted, his eyes twinkling.

Neal shook his head. "Nay, I will!"

"Ye will no'!" his father argued.

"Ye wanna make a deal?"

Malcolm's eyebrow rose. "For what?"

"If I catch the biggest fish…ye let me skip lessons tomorrow and go play wi' Peter an' Winter." Neal bargained. Peter was the stablemaster's son, and near to Neal in age. They liked to go riding and exploring together.

Malcolm considered. Then he nodded. "As ye wish, laddie. Deal struck!" he clasped his son's hand to seal the agreement.

Belle shook her head and giggled. "I fear our children will try to make deals with us to get out of learning as well, aye?"

"Oh, no doubt. But I can out deal anyone, dearie," Rab smirked.

"Can you now?" she challenged with a smirk.

"I always hae been," the physician replied.

"Well then...I guess I'll have to see if I can outdeal you."

"Ye're welcome to try, sweetheart," he grinned. Then he picked up an apple tart from the basket they had brought and ate it.

"I'll have to think about it very carefully, after all, you do claim to be an expert...and I would have to make it worth your while..."

"Oh indeed, dearie. Indeed." His tongue flicked out and he licked the juice from the tart from his lips.

"Are you trying to temp me?" she murmured.

"Maybe a wee bit," he admitted, his dark eyes dancing. "Although why ye'd be tempted by my doing this," and he licked his lips again provocatively. "I couldna fathom."

"Could ye not now? Mayhap I should show you!"

Rab glanced at his father and brother, who were now fishing next to each other, and Ailsa also. "Were we alone, Belle . . .I'd take ye up on it."

He was tempted to pull her onto his lap and kiss her senseless.

"Well if you're not wanting a kiss then..."

"I dinna say that . . ." he protested softly, then he wrapped an arm about her and kissed her, indulging himself shamelessly.

"You see...I knew could make a deal with you!" she whispered.

"Aye . . ." he purred, his eyes smokey with the heat of his desire.

"Now then can you honestly tell me no one can outdeal you?"

"Ye're the only one who ever has managed to," he crooned.

She smiled. "I could learn to enjoy this..."

"All too easily, mo chridhe," he spoke the Gaelic endearment gently.

"Mayhap I will let you win a few times..."

The water lapped gently on the shores of the little loch and he wished passionately they were alone, so he could run his fingers through her lush hair and then down her shoulders, touching her the way he had seen his university friends do to the tavern wenches . . .except this was no illicit tumble, this was his wife . . . He almost groaned in frustration.

"Soon, Rab, soon," Belle said softly, the same thoughts on her mind that were on his.

Today however was his time to spend with the family. They would have plenty of opportunities to be alone later.

She felt a tug on her line. "Oh...Rab...I've got one..." She struggled with the pool. "Och, this laddie is putting up a fight!"

They grabbed the pole together and yanked it out of the water with the largest fish either of them had ever seen dangling on the end of the line. "He's a big laddie, sweetheart!" Rab praised.

Neal, Malcolm and Ailsa gaped at them. "What...how the hell did ye catch such a big fish, lass? Tis magic!"

"Nay Papa, she was just lucky," Rab insisted.

Neal glowered at her. "I was supposed to catch the big one!"

"Now dinna fash it lad, ye can still catch one bigger 'n me," his father chuckled.

Neal tossed his line back into the water determined to do just that so that he could skip his lessons, many of them were boring and it was a constant struggle to stay awake.

Both of them were getting impatient as they waited for the fish to bite and when Neal and Malcolm pulled their lines out of the water and compared their catch, the younger Carlyle beamed with pride. "I get to skip my lessons!" he sang.

"Dinna be thinkin' ye can do that often, lad. Ye need yer lessons so ye can help us run the keep, aye?"

"Aye, Papa."

Rab smiled and put his arm around his bride's shoulders. "Would ye like to go for a walk wi' me, sweetheart?"

"I'd love to."

"Good. Maybe now _we_ can catch all the big fish!" Neal called back.

They didn't go far. Though Belle was starting to get around more, he didn't want to cause a relapse and had her sit down to rest.

PAGE*~*~*~*~*~*BREAK

Moira had been true to her word that she would attend Mass faithfully as part of her penance though she preferred Archie's sermons to his replacement and she was overjoyed when he arrived at the keep that morning to ask her to go with him when he visited his parishioners who were unable to attend services that day. One of them was Maggie Stewart, a young lass of twenty-five. When he and Moira entered the cottage, both of them were distressed by the young woman's condition.

"Has she seen a physician?" Archie demanded of the woman's spouse.

"Ye mean that Rabbie Carlyle. I'll not hae that witch doctor touching my lass!"

"He's no' a witch doctor, ye arse!" snapped Moira.

"He was taught by those...those...Moors," the man sneered. "And ye dinna think that makes him a witch doctor?"

"Nay it doesna and if ye dinna have her seen by a physician ye'll be answerin' t' the Almighty Father as to why ye let yer lass suffer!" Archie yelled.

"Papa...please let Mama see someone. I dinna want her to die!" sobbed their daughter Sorcha.

"All right...Father...go and fetch Rabbie Carlyle," the husband said resignedly.

The couple was nearly out of breath by the time they reached the lake and their legs ached from trying to run too fast.

"This...is...one of t' times...when I hate being auld!" Archie panted.

Rab looked up from where he was sitting holding Belle's hand. "Father Bryce, why are ye runnin' as if the devil himself were after ye?"

"Tis Missus Stewart...she's no' well at all, Rabbie...and that husband of hers dinna want t' tell ye."

"Until we convinced him to," Moira added. "Stubborn lout."

The young doctor was on his feet. "What ails the lass? Do ye know how long she's been sick?"

He knew that a few of the villagers were distrustful of his healing skills now that it was known his mentor in Edinburgh was a Moor. Many Highlanders were superstitious and feared people who were not like them. Donal Stewart was one of them.

"It sounds like she has something in her lungs, Rabbie," Moira answered.

"And we dinna know how long, lad," Archie confessed sadly.

Rab shook his head. "All right, I'll be examining her myself soon enough." He went and mounted Dancer, his medical satchel was already on the horse's saddle. Then he put his boots to the gelding's flanks and raced down to the village.

He pulled Dancer up at the small cottage and jumped to the ground, only to see a small child with reddish hair in a blue dress, barefoot, awaiting him in the yard. "Hello, dearie. I'm Dr. Rab."

"Hi! I'm Sorcha...are you gonna help my mama?"

"I'm going to try very hard. Can you tell me how long your mama has been sick?" Rab asked the child, kneeling down so he was at her eye level. He figured he could get information from the child just as well as her husband.

"Ummm...a long time...I guess.."

Rab shook his head. This sounded very grave. A long lung ailment could weaken a person and he feared very much for the patient. "All right, show me where your mama is."

"Ye're gonna save her, right?" the child asked.

"I . . . yes, I will do my best," Rab promised. He didn't want to promise something he wasn't sure he could fulfill, but he didn't want to snuff out the hope in the girl's beautiful green eyes either.

She hugged him. "Thank you! She's in here!" the little girl raced into the cottage. "Papa, Mama, he's here!"

Rab followed and prayed to Jesus and all his angels that he could save this patient. _By yer will, Lord . .._

He found Maggie tossing and turning upon a pallet, her breath rasping in her throat, her hair lank against the pillow, nearly as pale as the sheets she lay upon. Rab felt his heart seize in alarm. "Hey, Maggie. I'm Dr. Rab. Can ye tell me how long ye've been ill, dearie?"

"W...Weeks..." she croaked.

Rab sighed. "I wish I hae seen ye sooner, but . . ." he looked at her husband. "Do ye hae more pillows? She needs to be propped up more, she cannae breathe lying flat."

"Aye," he growled and went to fetch some.

Rab gently put his hand on Maggie's chest and listened to her heart and took her hand and counted her pulse. What he found concerned him greatly. Her pulse was thready and the congestion in her lungs was quite bad. She also had a fever.

He opened his satchel and removed a bottle of some willowbark. He gave her some of it in a cup and then some slippery elm, marshmallow, and echinacea tonic.

He asked Sorcha, who was about seven, for a basin of cool water and some cloths so he could gently bathe Maggie's face and neck, cooling her.

"Can I do that for ye?' Sorcha asked him when she handed him the basin and cloths.

"Aye, lass. But dinna get the cloth too wet," he instructed. Then he turned to Donal, and helped him put the pillows behind Maggie, sitting her up.

Some of the rasping eased.

"I need ye to boil some water and bring it to me with a towel."

Donal gave him a suspicious look, but obeyed. Rab put the basin of water on a chair and helped the stricken woman lean over it, draping the towel over her head so it formed a tent. "Now, dearie, I want ye to breathe in the steam. Just breathe."

For twenty minutes he had her inhale the steam and to the water he added some crushed Echinacea and mint. For a few moments it seemed the treatment was working and her breathing eased. Then she began to cough, bringing up yellow phelgm.

Rab frowned, for that was a sign of infection.

He held her head over a bowl so she could spit into it, then allowed her to lie back against the pillows. "Rest, dearie. I'm going to make ye some tea. Would ye hae any broth? She needs to keep up her strength. The coughing exhausts her."

He made a soothing tea of chamomile and honey, mixed up poultices of mustard and gently spooned the tea into his patient's mouth. "How do ye feel now? A bit better?"

"A..Aye..." she whispered.

"That's good."

He had Sorcha continue to bathe her with the wet cloth, and gave her more medicine after an hour.

The fever seemed to lessen slightly.

Donal frowned at him. Then he hissed in Rab's ear, "Will she make it?"

"I cannae say that yet," Rab muttered. "Ye need to gi' the medicine time to work."

But he feared that they had waited too long. Maggie was very weak and the infection had gone on too long without treatment. She was thin and almost gaunt, and her eyelids fluttered closed as she sank into a fitful doze.

"Dinna lie t'me, witch doctor!"

Rab's eyes flashed, and he pulled the other man into the kitchen and snapped, "I am no' lying, Donal Stewart! Had ye come to me when Maggie first showed signs of growing worse, things might no' have come to such a turn. Yer wife is gravely ill, man! She has nae the strength left to breathe right. But I will do the best I can, and pray that God will be merciful to ye."

Donal sat down in a chair and buried his face in his hands.

All the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Rab worked ceaselessly to try and save his patient. He poured draught after draught of strengthening teas and used poultices of mashed garlic, mustard, and onions to try and draw the congestion from her lungs. He tried to coax her to eat the chicken broth.

Sorcha helped him bathe her mother and held her hand, talking to her softly. "Mama, ye must get well. Drink the broth like Dr. Rab tells ye. Then we can make porridge with honey and blueberries."

Maggie's eyes fluttered open and she gave her daughter a wan smile. "Aye . . .we can, _alannean_."

She obediently opened her mouth to let Rab spoon some broth between her cracked lips.

But after barely three spoonfuls she turned her head away, and soon drifted into a fitful sleep again.

"Mama?" Sorcha asked worriedly.

"Let her rest, dearie," Rab said gently. "She's tired." His heart broke then, for he could see Maggie's life slowly guttering out like a spent candle. He took Sorcha's hand in his. "Why dinna ye go and eat something, Sorcha? I'll stay with her."

"Aye, sir" She hesitated for a minute before she went into the kitchen with her father.

Rab clasped his hands together and prayed. _Lord, in yer mercy, I beg ye to heal her . . .or to at least let me ease her suffering before ye take her_ . . . A part of him had known as soon as he had seen her that she was too far gone to save. The medicines could not work fast enough to beat the fever and the congestion. And her body did not have the strength or the reserves for a lengthy recovery.

But another part of him, the stubborn part, refused to give up hope. As long as there was breath there was hope. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest and tried to think of any other remedy he hadn't tried.

Maggie's eyes opened again and she coughed violently.

"Easy, dearie," Rab put an arm around her, supporting her while the spasm wracked her frame. He gave her some more cherry cordial, a stronger dose than usual, and gently wiped her lips with a damp cloth.

"D...Doctor..."

"What is it, Maggie?"

"D..Do you see my Papa...? He's...he's waiting for me..."

Rab felt his heart grow still. "Are ye sure, dearie?"

She nodded with a smile. "He and Mama...they want me to come home..."

He gazed at her with knowing eyes. "Would ye like me to call yer lass and Donal for ye?"

"Aye...I must...I must say goodbye to them..."

Rab saw the finality in her gaze. She knew she was not long for this world. Beneath his hand, he could feel her breathing shallowly. "Shall I send someone for a priest?"

"Aye...Father Bryce..."

He nodded. Then he kissed her gently on the brow. "I . . .I'm sorry I couldna do more for ye . . ."

"Ye made my last moments...more comfortable...Doctor...and I thank ye..."

Rab rose, and went into the kitchen, his heart slowly breaking for the knowledge he bore and also for the fact that hadn't been able to keep his promise. "Donal . . . Maggie is askin' for ye and Sorcha."

A long look was exchanged between the two men.

"Papa...why? What's wrong?" Sorcha cried.

"Come, lass. Yer mama wants ye," Donal said gruffly, and took his daughter's hand.

Rab decided to give them some privacy and went outside to tell a neighbor to fetch Father Bryce, up at the crofter's hut.

The sun was slowly sinking and painted the sky a panorama of beautiful colors-violet, blue, rose, and gold. Rab gazed at it, and his eyes burned.

Archie arrived a short time later with Moira at his side. "I'll just stay out here with Rabbie," she said to him.

He kissed her cheek. "Thank ye lass."

Rab nodded to Archie, and continued to gaze out at the sunset. His hands clenched and he whispered harshly, "I came too late! I failed her . . ."

"Nay, lad, nay!" Archie insisted. "The Lord was already calling her home before ye came, lad...ye just made the journey less painful for her."

Rab shook his head, his jaw clenched stubbornly. He knew the priest was correct, but he didn't want to hear it.

"Go, Father. Let her be shriven."

"We'll talk later, lad," the priest said softly.

When Archie walked into the cottage, Donal was kneeling beside his wife's bed with her hand in his while their daughter sobbed beside him.

"Father..." Maggie called out weakly.

He approached the opposite side of the bed and took the woman's other hand.

He'd administered the last rites to so many over the years but it always tore at his heart every time he saw the Lord take someone so young like Maggie, a wife and mother.

"Peace to this house and all who dwell therein," he said softly.

He handed Maggie a small crucifix. The young woman raised it to her lips and kissed it softly while he sprinkled the room with Holy Water. "Cleanse me of sin with hyssop, Lord, that I may be purified; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost."

Sorcha fled from the room in tears.

He listened attentively as Maggie gave her final confession, the only issue that had been troubling the young woman in her final weeks was that she had waited too long to tell her husband she was ill.

The moment he spoke the last words of the ritual, the young woman closed her eyes and smiled softly. She was home at last.

Rab sensed a change when he could no longer hear Archie's voice. He walked back into the cottage, knowing already what he would find. This was not the first patient he had lost. But the death of one so young, and one with a child, always hurt him profoundly.

He walked to the bed, and checked her vital signs. There were none. "She's gone home with the angels now." He wrote down the time and date in his small logbook. Then he gently drew the sheet over her face, which rested in peaceful repose.

Then he silently began to clean up the medicines and other paraphernalia.

"You lied to me!" Sorcha wailed.

Rab jerked his head up. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I tried . . ."

"Ye said ye were gonna help Mama and she died!"

There was nothing he could say to that impassioned declaration, no words came that could ease the pain he knew she was feeling. But he met her gaze with his own, and tears glistened in his eyes.

"I want my mama back!"

She threw her arms around his legs and held onto him. "Make her come back, please!"

He hugged her hard and crooned, "I wish I could, dearie. But God wished for her to join him . . .as He did my own mama." Recalling his own loss made his heart ache fiercely, and it was as if he were enduring Ceri's passing all over again.

"Your mama went to heaven with the angels too?"

"Aye, she did. Six years ago," he said softly. "And now she an' yer mama are together watching us."

"So I gotta be good?"

"Aye, lass, so yer mama will see ye again someday." He touched her chest. "And remember, she will always live here, in yer heart."

"I just wish ye coulda brought her back..."

"I know. I wish that too. But sometimes . . .sometimes no matter what we wish, God decides otherwise. To all things there is a season . . .and a time . . .and yer mama was verra sick. In pain and now she rests in the arms of our Lord, where there is no more pain or sorrow. Only joy."

"She's with Gramma?"

"Aye. They are all together now,"

"Sorcha...come here lass!" her father called out.

"Go, sweetheart. Yer papa needs ye," Rab ordered quietly.

She ran to her father in the kitchen as Archie walked into the room.

He knew the young man was tormenting himself, thinking there was more that could have been done for poor Maggie but the moment the priest saw his young parishoner, he realize that all the lad could do was ease her suffering in her final hours.

Rab supposed now was a good time to leave, before Donal in his grief pointed a finger at him and blamed him for Maggie's death. Sorcha had been understandable, no child of seven was rational in grief like that, but Donal hadn't trusted him before summoning him, let alone now.

"Witch doctor!"

Rab turned and said softly, "I'm going to forget ye said that, for speaking heresy against your laird is a sin, but I can excuse ye on account of your loss. Ye have my condolences, but what God wants He takes, and no mortal can say Him nay."

In his grief Donal had become irrational, allowing his superstitions and his prejudices to get the better of him as many people in their village had.

"I dinna care if ye are my laird or no. Ye dinna do enough for my Maggie!"

"No doctor could hae done what ye wished, for no doctor has the power to conquer death. When ye called me she already had one foot through the gates. I hae seen death come calling before, and I did what I could do to make her passing easier. If I could've, I would have saved her. On that I pledge ye my word, and the word of a Carlyle has always been good."

Fortunately the widower knew this to be true and could not dispute it. "What do I do now...wi'out my Maggie?' he sobbed.

Rab handed him a handkerchief. "Ye do what I did after my lady mother passed. Ye mourn, and remember, and then ye look about ye and see what ye hae left to live for. For ye, 'tis easy to do that. Dinna forget that while yer wife is gone, a piece o' her lives on in her daughter."

"And Sorche needs ye lad," Archie reminded him.

He pulled Rab aside. "I'll be here a bit lad. Can ye see Moira home for me?"

"Aye," he replied. "If ye need aught, ye hae but to ask." Then he picked up his satchel and went out, knowing that Archie would be there to provide solace to the family, and other friends and neighbors would help prepare the body of the young woman for the wake and funeral in the following days.

Rab went out and said to Moira, "The Father will be awhile yet, so best we get on home. I need something to eat and I'd wager so do ye."

"Aye...oh lad, that puir woman and her young bairn. Come on..ye need to see yer lass."

He nodded and mounted his horse, pulling his old nurse up behind him. He was silent as they rode back to the keep, thinking that all he wanted was some food and sleep, for the hours he'd spent caring for Maggie had taken their toll.

Moira was hoping the lady Belle would bring some comfort to her laird when Archie was tending to the family. She was proving to be a strong one even for a Fraser and this would certainly test her mettle. Rabbie was the brooding sort...he'd retreated into his own lonely world after the Lady Ceri's death and Archie had been the only one to pull him out of it.

Rab felt the shadows of his old inadequacy rear up and shroud him in their familiar embrace. Despite his words to the crofter and little Sorcha, despite all the logic he knew, still he felt terribly guilty that he had not been able to save Maggie. If only he had been a day sooner, or several days . . . that would have made all the difference.

Sorcha's shrill little voice sobbing, "You promised!" tore at him worse than a demon from hell prodding him with a pitchfork.

Belle, despite protests from the rest of the Carlyles insisted on waiting outside for Rabbie to return. She knew he would do everything humanly possible to save the young woman but she hoped his help had not come too late.

Rab rode into the stableyard, his face drawn and hard. He helped Moira down and then handed Dancer's reins to a groom. He almost missed his wife standing there, he was so exhausted.

"Rabbie..." she said softly and held out her arms, seeing the pain and exhaustion in her betrothed's face.

"Belle, why are ye out here?" he scolded softly. "Ye'll catch a cold." But even as he protested her presence, he went and hugged her.

"I wanted to see if...all was well with Maggie..."

He stiffened then said abruptly, "No. I lost her. She was too weak, the sickness had taken too much out o' her. I promised her wee lass I'd save her, and I failed." His tone was mocking and bitter, though it was all directed at himself. "Come, let us go inside, before ye catch a chill and I watch ye die too."

He pulled away from her embrace and walked swiftly into the hall, brushing his eyes with his hand briefly.

"Rabbie!" Belle cried, hurrying after him as much as she could. "Moira...help me..."

"Come on lass, he needs ye."

"I dinna mean for him to think...why is he blaming himself? He did everything he could..."

"He gets like this, lass...go on now..."

Rab entered the hall and saw some of the Carlyle men-at-arms and keep servants eating and drinking at the trestles.

Neal was sitting beside Ailsa and when he saw his brother, called, "Rab, what happened?"

Rab barely paused to address his sibling. "Not now, Neal! Go to bed!" he snapped.

Ignoring the boy's startled hurt look, he snagged a passing gillie and told the man to have wash water and a meal brought up to his quarters, then he strode up the stairs.

"Rabbie!" Belle cried, limping up the stairs after him, ignoring the pain in her foot. "Wait..."

"Ye dinna want to be botherin the lad when he's broodin'" one of the men said.

"Och ye hold yer tongue, ye drunken arse!" snapped Moira.

He spun then, and saw Belle struggling to get to him and growled, "God's teeth, lady! Do ye wish to kill yerself?"

He came back down the stairs and picked her up in his arms, muttering something about falling and breaking her neck, but he was gentle as he mounted the stairs again and brought her to their room.

He carried her inside and set her on the bed, disturbing a sleeping Rumple, who woke and mewed at him. "Hush, ye wee fiend!"

The kitten had no fear of him, however, and came and rubbed his hand, purring. Rab reluctantly petted the cat, then withdrew to the other side of the room. He tossed his satchel on the table, rubbed his eyes and sat down to remove his boots.

"Rabbie, talk to me," she pleaded.

"I have naught more to say on the matter," he growled. He ran his hands through his hair and yawned.

"It would help if you talked it out..Rabbie, please...don't do this...let me help you."

"What help can ye be to me?" he demanded harshly. "The woman is dead, and not all my skill could prevent it." His mouth twisted. "Her husband called me a witch doctor, would that I did possess magic, I might hae saved her life. As it was, all I could do was make her comfortable."

"Rabbie, even having all the magic in the world cannot keep someone from dying." She reached out to touch his shoulder. "Only God can do that Rabbie. You made her final moments comfortable...perhaps that was what you were meant to do. You cannot think her death was your fault. You can't!"

He looked away from her abruptly. A part of her knew she was right, yet the other part, the guilty part, whispered that his lack of knowledge was what had caused his patient to die. "I did all that I knew how, yet it wasn't enough." He cried, frustrated. "Because I lacked the knowledge . . ."

"No you did not!" she insisted. "How long had she been sick?"

"Weeks . . .or so she said to me when I asked. She thought it was but a little cough . . .and she would soon be well . . ." He clenched his fist on the table.

"When you saw her, you realized she'd been sick too long, didn't you?"

"Aye . . .she was but skin and bones, drawn, and she had no strength left in her. She was like a piece of thread stretched too tight," he recalled. "Every breath was a struggle."

"Instead of allowing her to suffer, you made her comfortable, Not many doctors will do that..."

"Her lass expected me to save her . . .for a moment I had hoped . . .but I was a fool . . ."

"Did you promise her you would save her mama? Or did you tell her you could do all you could?"

"I said I would try," he muttered, then opened the door for the servant with the tray of food. Another entered with warm water and poured it into the wash basin.

He thanked them and they hurried out, obviously not wishing to be around him in the mood he was in. Rab washed his hands and face quickly, then turned to sit down and eat the food that had been brought~a shepherd's pie, half a capon stuffed with apple stuffing, bread, fruit, and cheese.

There was also a goblet of ale. Rab drank it before he cut some of the pie and ate it, not really tasting anything.

"Then you did everything humanly possible that you could, Rabbie."

"Yet another child weeps for a mother I could not save . . . like I couldna save my own," he whispered darkly.

"How were you not able to save Ceri?" she asked sadly.

"Because again I dinna know she was sick . . . and by the time I did learn it was too late. I came home to bury her," he cried anguished.

"And again you would have been able to only make her final days comfortable, Rabbie. How are you able to help someone if they don't tell you they're ill?"

He did not respond, staring morosely down at his food and stirring it with his fork. He drank some more ale, but it tasted bitter.

Belle felt like a failure. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't reach her betrothed.

Rumple, sensing Rab's distress, wound himself about the other's ankles, purring loudly. When this brought no response, the kitten jumped up on his lap and began to knead Rab's thigh.

Maybe he will do a better job, Belle thought sadly.

At first the doctor ignored the kitten, but soon the regularity of the purring and kneading caused the man to relax and his hand stroked the small body reflexively.

The kitten nuzzled and purred some more, and Rab broke off a piece of capon and gave it to Rumple. "Here, imp. Is this what you want? Hmmm?"

"This little beastie always makes me feel better, don't you, Rumple?" Belle asked.

Rumple ate the chicken greedily, then licked Rab's fingers.

As if that were a signal, there came another meow and Raine meandered into the room, and pawed at her master's leg, giving him a sharp look, as if to say what about ME?

Belle giggled. "Now you're in a bit of trouble."

Rab glanced down. "Now dinna get in a snit, my bonny lass. I dinna forget ye." He gave Raine some chicken also.

His tabby gobbled it down, then nipped him slightly. "Hey! You BIT me!"

Raine switched her tail at him and narrowed her amber eyes.

"Raine! That wasn't very nice," Belle scolded.

The cat sniffed, then meowed and jumped up on Rab's other knee, half-shoving Rumple off.

"Ah, ye're a jealous wee beastie," Rab said. His hand rubbed her back and she purred also. "Dinna fash yerself, I still love ye, silly kit!"

"Maybe I should become a cat..." Belle mused, unaware that she'd spoken aloud.

Rab almost choked on his ale. "W-what?"

"I...nothing..." she said quickly.

She didn't want to tell him what was on her mind because he had enough on his mind as it was but she couldn't help feeling there was more she should be doing.

He looked at her guiltily. "I'm not very good company now, I'm afraid." He eyed his dinner and ate a few more mouthfuls, because he knew he needed the sustenance, not because he was hungry.

"Rabbie...do you want me to go...?"

He pushed his plate away, then changed his mind and put it on the floor for the cats to eat. The two began to devour it.

Then he rose. "I . . .think I need to sleep . . ." He tugged off his tunic and pulled on his sleep shirt, then his breeches followed. He walked over to his side of the bed and lay down, saying, "This is your room too, dearie, ye may stay if ye want." He closed his eyes.

I'll stay." She went behind the changing screen and retrieved her nightrail but was having a bit of difficulty with her crutches. "Rabbie...would you mind..."

Her face flushed. She was having trouble trying to keep her balance while she pulled the garment down over her head.

Rab sat up. "Just a minute, dearie." His hands came about her waist, holding her steady. His lips were right by her ear as he spoke and he couldn't help but note how lovely his wife was.

"I'm sorry to bother you like this..."

"Tis no bother," he murmured. Then he kissed her behind the ear.

"Thank you, darling," she said softly.

He rested his chin on her shoulder. "Ye're more patient than I deserve."

"I know today has been difficult for you...I just wish I knew what to say..."

"Dinna say anything, dearie. Just . . . stay wi' me."

That she could do. She crawled into bed and Rumple jumped up with her and lay down on her stomach. "Now Rumple..."

Rab chuckled and turned on his side. "He's verra like a tiny lad. Wants to be near ye all the time."

"MEEEEOWWW!" Raine screeched in protest and jumped up on her own master.

"Like I said . . .'tis like two siblings fightin' for their parents' attention." He picked up his cat and placed her on his pillow. "There, ye sleep here, so if I turn over I dinna crush ye, ye fuzzy minx."

"This bed's going to be a bit crowded," Belle giggled.

"'Twill be worse if we had bairns," he remarked. Then his face fell as he recalled Sorcha. "I need to send Sorcha something. But what?"

"A gift made with your own hands means so much," Belle suggested.

"What do ye think she would like? A blanket? Or a shawl? Or something to sleep wi'?"

"Something to sleep with...perhaps a doll..."

"Aye . . .I can make a rag doll," he mused.

"That'll be perfect, Rabbie. She'll love it."

"Perhaps ye can make some other clothes to go wi' it?"

"I can try...may need a bit of help with the sewing..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are ye telling me ye cannae sew?"

"Ummm...well...a bit...but my stitches are a bit...crooked..."

Rab smirked. "Practice makes perfect, dearie. I learned to sew cloth years before I learned to sew flesh."

"Did Moira teach you or your mama?"

"My mama did. Papa taught us how to knit."

"I tried to learn but I was more interested in tending to the animals."

"Speaking o' animals, ye're doing a bonny job wi' Auriel."

"I try," she said modestly.

There were a few times however, where all of the skills she had hadn't been enough to save an animal she'd tended.

She'd taken each loss to heart and blamed herself as he did but this loss was much deeper to him, it took him back to the time of his mother's death.

Rab closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but as he drifted off, he dreamed he was chasing Ceri and Maggie and they turned and waved to him before jumping off the cliff.

He flung himself down and tried to grab their hands but he was too late, and an angel came and flew away with them. "Come back!" he yelled. "Come back!"

Belle awoke hearing Rab crying out in his sleep. "Rab...Rabbie...wake up!" she cried.

He woke still calling for them. "Come back . . ."

"Rabbie, it's Belle...it's Belle...I'm here..." she said soothingly, thinking he was calling out for her.

"Belle . . .they flew away with an angel . . ." he gasped.

"Who did?"

"Maggie and my mama . . ." he repeated. "I tried . . .I tried to stop them . . . but they jumped and the angel caught them. He took them away. . ."

"Because they were needed in Heaven..." she murmured as she embraced him and gently ran her hands through his hair.

He allowed her to hold him, then he did something he normally did not do. He wept on her shoulder.

She hoped that just holding him would be enough of a comfort to him...and he never needed to be ashamed to cry in front of her. All of the men in her family and she suspected his never allowed their women to see this side of them but this was one of those times when he needed share his sorrow rather than conceal it.

Rab would have felt ashamed of his sudden outburst, but he was too weary and hurting to pretend to stoicism. So he took the solace his wife offered and fell asleep snuggled beside her, the tears drying upon his face and her pillow.

 **A/N: Sorry this has been so late getting updated but ff was down for awhile and also I was sick. Thanks to CJ for her assistance as always.**


	13. Comfort and Malice

**13**

 **Comfort and Malice**

Though he was not a young man any longer, Archie never allowed that to stop him from tending to his parishioners when they needed him and there was no time when they needed him more than when coping with a great loss. He spent most of the night with Donal and wee Sorcha, talking and praying with them.

At dawn he was in the chapel at the altar, praying for young Maggie's soul's safe passage through the Gates of Heaven and into the Lord's loving bosom.

Rab awoke feeling wrung out and hollow, and dressed by the light of a single candle. He could no longer sleep and left Belle still dreaming with both cats curled on her while he went down to the chapel to pray. Despite his catharsis last night, his soul was still troubled.

Archie had just finished his prayers when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Father Bryce? Am I disturbing ye?" Rab said after seeing the priest there before the altar.

"Nay, lad." He patted the empty space beside him. "Come and join me."

Rab approached and sat down next to the priest. "I . . .am troubled, Father. I cannae help but think . . .that I have failed. Even though I ken that I came too late to save Maggie's life . . ."

"Nay lad, ye dinna fail the puir lassie. The Lord decided that she was needed in Heaven and he sent ye to her so that she dinna suffer in her final moments. Sometimes that is all the Lord asks of ye, laddie."

"But Father . . .I promised her lass . . .and I broke my word . . .

"What did ye say to wee Sorcha. Did ye say ye would save her mama or that ye would try? Tis a difference between the two lad."

"I told her I would try. Since I feared . . .that I might not . . .depending on what hae caused her to sicken." Rab admitted

"So ye dinna gie her false hope, lad. Did ye talk to the lass how I talked to ye when your mam passed on about how she was needed in Heaven with all His angels?" It was what the Father hoped he would do.

"I . . .did a bit but . . . it was late and I . . .figured it were best to let her papa comfort her. But mayhap I shall return there soon. Belle suggested I make a doll for her . . .something to sleep with so she isna lonely."

"Ahh...a wise decision lad and yer Fraser lass is a clever one, aye? And d'ye remember that puppet yer mam made for ye. Ye slept with it every night when ye were servin as my altar boy and got in quite a snit when Jamie tried to hide it from ye."

Rab smiled at the memory. "Aye . . . that was one o' the few times I truly was angry at my brother . . .sometimes he could be such an oaf . . ."

"Aye and I made him weed the gardens for a week after when I found that hole in it and dinna do a god job tryin to fix it since I canna sew worth spit."

Archie smiled wistfully. "And when I took it to Moira to fix I feared she was gonna put my eyes out with that needle."

"But she dinna, and she fixed it almost like new," Rab recalled. "And Mama told me the reason Jamie behaved like that was because he was jealous . . .since we both hae puppets but he had no' taken care of his an' his dogs ripped it to shreds, but I still had mine . . ."

"Mayhap ye should make wee Sorcha an angel doll like her mam, it will help her believe her mam is watchin over her," Archie suggested.

"Aye I could do that . . .only I hope that her papa will let her keep it. Seeing as he blames me for her mama dying," Rab said heavily. It saddened him to think like that, but he knew it was true.

"I had a talk wi' him and he kens it wasna yer fault laddie. He's just a bit worried about bringing up wee Sorcha alone"

"I would be too . . .tis no' easy for a man to raise a lass by himself." Rab conceded. "And are ye sure about the other? The illness was too advanced . . .even wi' all my skill I couldna help her . . .I saw that as soon as I walked into the cottage and looked at her. But I hoped for a miracle . . ."

"The Lord made up His mind He needed Maggie in Heaven for a purpose and ye ken ye dinna argue with the Lord laddie. He has a purpose for us all whether it's here or in Heaven and ye canna fight Him when He calls you home. Is that not what I taught ye?"

"Aye, ye did. Only . . .in my pride I forgot. Sometimes we doctors tend to commit that sin, because we are given the power to heal, we think we ken what is best and forget tis no' our will whether someone lives or dies. But always the Lord's."

"Aye. Ye dinna have the Lord's power or his wisdom but what ye do have laddie is the gift to heal, no' power laddie. Yer healing skills are his gift t'ye for the faith ye've had in Him since ye were in nappies."

"I am his hands, Father, here on earth," Rab whispered. "I hae always known to heal is my calling . . .even when I allowed Papa to send me to Edinburgh to read law."

"Aye and d'ye ken the trouble ye had when ye were in Edinburgh...ye wanted to follow yer heart and ye dinna think yer da wouldve approved? What did I tell ye when ye came to me lad?"

"Ye told me that my heart was wise . . .an' that sometimes it always knows, and if I followed my heart things would all work out in the end. "

"Aye and it has, laddie. Even if ye canna save every patient, ye can make their final moments in this world peaceful if that is what the Lord wants ye to do."

Rab sighed softly. "I ken I canna save everyone. Tis one o' the first lessons ye learn as an apprentice physician. Sometimes ye hae to lose in order to win. I've lost patients before . . .but this . . .I felt so guilty because wee Sorcha expected me to save her . . .and I couldna bear to disappoint her. And I ken the pain of losing a mother . . ."

"Children always find it hard to understand the Lord's ways as I did when my own mam passed." Archie scowled. "But my da, mean auld codger that he was told me her passing was my doing but Bishop Gillespie sat me down and talked to me and then I understood. I blamed the physician at first like wee Sorcha did until I talked to the Bishop and he told me the same things I told ye."

"Was this before ye ran away from him?" Rab clarified.

"Aye. It was part of the reason why the Bishop took me in. He remembered me from the time he came to speak t'me and I was always in church, even when I dinna feel well."

Rab's eyes narrowed. "Yer papa, did he beat ye?" He meant had the punishments been excessive, for it was common practice for a child to be disciplined with one's hand or a switch, but despite that one could go too far.

"Aye. And he dinna always have a reason either. He was just...a miserable soul."

Rab shook his head. "An' misery loves company, aye? I'm sorry there are such people in this world . . .and sorrier for those who put up wi' them."

"I told yer da tis why he has to beat back the demon of drink. I dinna want t'see him become like my da...and I gave Moira quite the scolding for what she did to puir Lily for the same reason."

"Aye . . .an' she's lucky I dinna turn her out for mistreating one o' my people that way. How is Papa doing? Is he still having episodes?"

"Aye but no' so bad I have to tie him thank the Lord. He is doing well, yer da and that kaffee you brought...we're drinkin' it so much we're runnin out!""

Archie also made sure Malcolm kept busy during the day, giving him lists of chores to complete at the cottage while he tended to his parishioners. The elder Carlyle was even trying to bake.

"I'll tell Azhir to send me more," Rab said. "Neal said he talked wi' Papa before the fishing trip an' said that he seemed like a whole different person. I forget, he only knew Papa when he was in his cups . . . and no' the way I did as a lad."

"Mayhap now he can know his da as ye remembered him laddie. We're working on it. Was a bit concerned at first Malcolm would relapse but he's doing fine as long as I keep him busy. The demon will try one last time to claim his soul I ken but by that time he should be strong in his faith in himself and the Lord that he'll send it screaming to Lucifer."

"I'm glad this treatment is working, Father. Something hae to be done, we couldna stay like this, ye ken . . . we were destroying ourselves. Belle is a healer too, like me.

Perhaps that's why the Lord brought us together, so that we could heal the wounds of our families."

"Aye and it's my hope there'll be no more trouble for ye," he said, referring to the lass Zelena, a troublesome young woman whom Archie felt was a daughter of Lucifer with her wicked ways.

There were rumors she practiced witchcraft and other members of her family had been accused of it in the past but not enough evidence was discovered to have them tried and burned as was the practice for those found guilty of witchcraft.

Rab hoped so too, they'd had enough sorrow and trouble to last a lifetime already. But for the first time he looked hopeful as he said, "If the good Lord is kind, I think we can put an end to this strife between our families and have peace again. Both within and without."

"Aye." Archie tried to stand up but was having difficulty

Rab helped him, saying, "You seem a wee bit stiff this morning, Father. Are your joints bothering ye again? I can mix up a potion to soothe them, and a salve for you to put on."

"Oh aye...getting auld isna easy lad."

"Nay, but then the alternative is worse," the doctor chuckled. "I'll bring you the medicines later this morning. After I send the letter to Azhir. And I have a few more patients to see and the tenant cottages to inspect."

"Good." They heard a crash down the hall.

Rab spun around. "What in God's name?"

Archie shuffled down the hall and to his horror he found one of the statues of the Virgin lying broken on the floor and two very ashamed altar boys , one of them holding a ball.

Rab cleared his throat. "Geordie and Neddie, are ye supposed to be playin' ball in the chapel?" he demanded sternly.

The boys were twins, and a handful.

"Nay and dinna I tell ye not to!" Archie cried.

Rab tapped his boot on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. 'Well, lads, what hae ye to say for yerselves?"

"Sorry Father.," they mumbled.

"Aye ye will be when ye'll be spendin the rest of the day cleanin this hall and fixing the blessed Virgin," Archie informed them.

"How we gonna do that?" asked Neddie.

"By gettin some o'that paste from the McLarens that's how!"

"And ye're lucky I'm not adding mucking out the goat pens to it, lads," Rab warned. He held out his hand for the ball. "I'll be keeping this until this evening."

The twins were cousins of Rabbie's and had been sent to Archie as altar boys to curb their wild streaks.

The two boys grimaced; they disliked having to muck out the pens at home when their goats often left unholy messes in there.

"Thank ye lad. Now ye scamps get to work!" Archie commanded the boys.

"And mind ye do a good job. Or else the Father will assign ye penance and ye can go without supper," Rab added.

He knew that at that age, the boys were ten, skipping supper was a greater punishment than a skelping. In fact he recalled Jamie once asking for such a punishment in lieu of missing dessert, not that it had worked with Ceri, who knew quite well how her son's mind worked.

Archie never enjoyed punishing anyone but he made certain that his punishments were never as cruel as those handed out by his father who often made him go without a meal for an entire day and the boy had to try to sneak a meal when the elder Bryce was passed out drunk or at the tavern.

Rab tucked the ball under his arm. "You heard Father Bryce. Go on . . .off wi' ye!"

The two boys scurried off, not wanting to anger their cousin or the Father any further.

"Thank ye, Father, for yer advice. Now, I'd best go and mix up that medicine, before someone else comes knocking and interrupts me with some new problem that cannae wait till ater breakfast."

Archie laughed. "Go on lad. I need to see what yer da's up to and I promised Moira I'd take her out to the loch for a bit."

Rab grinned. "God's grace upon ye, Father." Then he turned and walked out, his spirit much lighter than when he had entered the holy precincts.

Rab headed down to his workroom, figuring he could mix up the potion and be back in time to have breakfast with Belle, before he needed to perform other duties about the keep.

When Moira entered the bedchamber to wake her mistress, Raine and Rumple were sleeping on Belle's chest and legs. "All right ye beasties, get off the mistress!" she scolded the cats.

Raine stretched insolently and gazed up at the housekeeper with sharp green eyes. Then she twitched her tail and sauntered off the bed as if she owned it . . .which to her mind she did.

Rumple yawned, sat up, and began washing his face, purring.

"Och...now come on you...off the bed."

The kitten nuzzled and licked her hand, scrubbing his tousled ears, and then shaking them slightly.

"Now dinna be trying to soften me up cat. Off you go."

Rumple mewed in protest and that woke Belle, who sat up, blinking sleepily. "Och, kitty, I'll be getting yer breakfast in a minute. Dinna fash yerself!"

"He's a stubborn one and so is Raine," Moira mutttered. "Now then lass, how did things go with Rabbie? He's the brooding sort ye ken and I dinna want to see him suffer alone."

Belle rubbed her eyes, and her hands stroked the kitten curled on her lap. Rumple purred ecstatically and rubbed his head against her. "At first he dinna want to talk about it . . . like most men he preferred to hide his feelings. But I finally coaxed him to speak to me . . . and he blamed himself for not being able to save Maggie, just as I hae feared."

Moira nodded. "Aye he would. He beat himself up something terrible when Ceri passed on but talking to Father Bryce comforted him. But last night he needed ye, Belle."

"I ken that. And I've never . . .never been needed that way before, Moira. No' by anyone. No' like that. My mama was always the keep's great lady, people came to her wi' their problems to solve. They only came to me wi' problems about their animals."

"Now ye can be that great lady like your mam. I dinna like ye when ye came here because ye were a Fraser but ye're proving yerself, lass. When Kenneth died...I was so angry that I dinna want to talk to anyone but Father Bryce, Archie...was the only person I felt I could...even though I shouldna..."

"Why should ye no' wish to talk to him? Rab seems to set great store by him, and he seems to be helpin' the laird wi' his drinking problem. I would think ye could trust a priest most of all to keep yer confidences."

"Not when ye dinna see him as a priest lass but a man," Moira confessed.

Belle's eyes widened. "Ye mean . . . ye are . . . in love wi' him?"

"Aye. I've loved him since I was a lass and he just ordained but he wouldna leave the church for me. Twas hard for me to accept ye ken and I was cold t'him for so long...but still he loved me as I love him."

Belle looked at her sympathetically. "It's too bad that ye canna be together . . .it must be hard on ye to love someone and know that ye can never have him as ye wish."

"It is but I'm content just seeing him when I can."

"I suppose ye must be glad of anything that makes ye happy." Belle said. "Because I learned a long time ago, ye canna always get what ye want, and ye need to count the blessing ye do have instead of always wanting more. Otherwise ye become a shrew and a bitter hag, never content and always spewing poison at others."

"Twas what I was for so long because I wanted to be a wife to Archie and couldnae."

Belle flushed. "I dinna mean to imply . . ."

"No but it's the truth, lass."

"But ye dinna have to be that way, Moira. Because knowing ye have some o' his heart is better than never having loved at all."

"Aye. Now let's get ye some breakfast."

Moira was humming a tune while she helped her mistress dress for the day.

Belle could stand after a fashion, and her bodice, skirts and blouses weren't too complicated to put on, with the minimum of buttons, ties and fasteners. Women's clothing was not as restrictive here as at court and so she didn't always bother with stays, since Moira could tighten her bodice to give her support without the discomfort of stays, which would poke her when she used crutches.

"Will ye be all right managing the keep for the day, my lady? I'm ahhh...going to the loch with Archie after he's rested," Moira said to her.

"I'll be fine, Moira. I want to check on Auriel and then see to planning some menus for the week, and make sure we have enough meat and hams smoked and our stores are all set for the summer and coming autumn." Belle said. "The hall also needs a good scrubbing and new rushes put down and everything."

"All right dear. I'll be back later."

"Moira, could you send Lily up with some food and cream for Rumple and Raine?"

Both cats were twining about her ankles and meowing.

"Aye my lady."

"All right ye wee beasties, settle down." Belle ordered, and sat down to wash her face and put combs in her hair as the servant departed.

Moments later Lily knocked on the door carrying a tray with four bowls for the cats. "My lady? Mistress Moira said ye needed food and cream for the beasties."

"Aye, set them down by the window seat, Lily. Thank ye," Belle instructed.

The cats raced over to the bowls with happy meows and began to eat and drink hungrily.

"Well now ye were hungry this morning were ye?" Lilly giggled.

Belle smiled as she watched Rumple's pink tongue lapping up the cream and said, "Tis like they were on a fast for Lent."

Rab's tabby had her tail curled about her feet as she ate the chopped up chicken and giblets the cook had placed in there, which normally would be given to the pigs. Haggis was one of the traditional dishes in Scotland, but none of the Carlyles cared for it, therefore it was avoided.

"I dinna know what ye and the laird did t' make Mistress Moira start being nice to me but I thank ye," Lily said.

"Ahh . . . we had a talk wi' her, and discovered her ill temper wasna wi' ye and when we sorted it out, she realized her behavior was wrong and promised to not do such again to any o' the maids or servants here in the castle." Belle told her. "I'm sorry that ye were hurt, as is the laird. We dinna countenance anyone, be it man or beastie, being beaten thus."

"So why was she bein' an auld shrew?"

"Well, she was unhappy wi' my being the new lady o' the keep, ye ken because I'm a Fraser, or was before my handfasting, an' there's often some friction when there's a change o' that sort. I'm only sorry she took her temper out on ye, Lily."

"Well as long as she dinna beat me, I'll be fine, Lady Belle."

"She willna try that again. I dinna permit anyone in my household to be beaten. Not by myself or anyone. Just as I dinna permit any o' my stablehands or kennelmen to beat the animals. On this me and Laird Rab are in firm agreement. When ye are a bairn, yer parents may punish ye as they choose, but once ye are in service at the keep, none may lay violent hands upon ye, not noble or commoner. And should anyone ask sanctuary from us, because of ill treatment by a master or a relative, it shall be granted."

Once the cats finished their breakfast, Lily picked up the bowls and put them on her tray to take them down to the kitchen to be washed.

"Thank ye again, Lady Belle, and I'll help ye as much as I can around the keep."

"Yer help would be appreciated," Belle said, because unlike most nobility she didn't take servants for granted, and that they would simply do their jobs as bidden, without need for acknowledgement.

The two cats then jumped on the window seat and curled next to each other, taking a nap in the warm sunshine. Raine slowly licked Rumple's coat as she lay next to him, and the kitten dozed.

 **Page~*~*~*~Break**

 _A day later_ :

The funeral procession was small, but mourners from all over the village gathered to offer their condolences to Maggie's family, pray for the repose of her soul, and give what food they could spare to her grieving husband for the funeral feast.

Archie had stayed at the cottage with them offering what comfort he could to Donal and Sorcha. She asked him many questions about Heaven, angels and God. He reminded her that Maggie was in Heaven watching over her.

Donal was grateful to the villagers for their kindness for he was no cook and he could barely manage the household chores. Several of the women arrived early that morning to clean the house and launder their clothing. Little Sorcha insisted on wearing the last dress her mother made for her.

Several strong lads arrived to bear the coffin through the streets to the cemetery, while Michael Bruce played a sad aria on his bagpipes.

Even Malcolm had come out of retreat to pay his final respects to young Maggie, leading his clan through the street.

On the fringes of the group of mourners was Master Hepzibah Stuart, Neal's former tutor, and he fastened a look of virulent hatred upon the Carlyles, especially Rab, Neal, and Lady Mirabelle, as they marched past.

Witch, he thought bitterly. That Fraser woman has them all bewitched. She's brought nothing but black luck to this village.

He would gladly see her burn.

He recalled that she even had a familiar, a deformed cat, a beast he was sure was the devil's own, as it had attacked him one day as he emerged from his room, biting at his ankle till he kicked it down the corridor, where it spat at him before running off.

If she had the devil's mark on her when examined it would be conclusive proof that she was a witch and he would not have Father Bryce examine her as he too was under her spell.

The laird's son had also been corrupted, he thought spitefully. For he too had a cat which slept on his bed like some child, and his witch wife had ensorcelled him so much that he couldn't even perform his craft as a physician, and had allowed young Maggie to die. Not to mention so addled as to throw him out of the castle for disciplining his wretched brother-the lazy little beetle.

They would all suffer for their insults. He would make those proud necks bend and acknowledge his superiority as a witch finder. By calling out the Fraser witch and ridding Carlyle of her contagion. Then they would all see his worth and beg his pardon for treating him so shabbily.

And what better day to start the fire than this one.

He watched from the shadows as they gathered at the grave, while the mealy mouthed Father Bryce recited the prayers for the departed and the coffin was lowered. He watched as Donal threw the first shovelful of dirt into the grave and his wee bairn threw a rose and heather which Rab gave her.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

Stuart sneered imagining another who would soon be ashes and dust upon the wind, her soul reclaimed by Satan. For all knew the Frasers were half-devil already, and nothing good came from them save strife and wickedness.

"Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.." he muttered.

Once the last shovelful of dirt had been tamped down, the villagers broke apart into small groups and followed Donal back to his cottage a bit at a time, since the dwelling was small and could not hold that many people. Precedence was given to the laird and his family and the other villagers waited patiently outside to pay their respects.

"That poor man...tis witchcraft at work here," Stuart said.

A villager shot him a sharp look. "What are ye blathering on about now, Hepzibah? Idle hands inspire gossip."

Most of the villagers tolerated Stuart but only barely, for he was not truly one of them.

"Can you deny the black luck that has plagued this village since the Fraser woman came? Poor Maggie dead...and Rab Carlyle did not save the lass in time...was fornicating with that vile mistress of the devil! And now look at the Father...breaking his vows and fornicating with that harpy housemaid...twas the witch's influence I tell you!"

Several villagers snorted in disbelief, and old Tam MacCreedy sneered, "Yer wits are addled, man, by too much whiskey, go an' sleep it off! Ye see shadows where there is none!"

But others looked concerned and fearful.

"I do not! The witch sleeps with a cat familiar and so does the Carlyle and how many of you have seen the Father and the housemaid together recently when they avoided each other as much as possible for years. The devil is in our village and we must cast her out!"

Tam rolled his eyes. "T' only devil here is ye, Hepzibah, for ye are jealous and angry because the Carlyle booted yer fancy ass outta the castle for forgetting yer place wi' him an' the young laddie Neal. An' now ye wish to cause mischief. The good Father is helping Moira o'ercome her bitterness since her betrothed died, no' sparking her, ye noddlehead! Wisht!"

"Are you sure about that? Use your head, man, or have you been taken in by the witch?"

"Aye, because my son works up there, an' he saw an' heard what the Carlyle said to ye before he threw ye out. An' we all ken how the Father set Moira penance for her beating wee Lily unjustly. We all ken the Carlyle's laws that no servant be mistreated under their roof. Why d'ye think we all wish to earn work there?"

"Dinna say a word against the Carlyle, ye carping crow!" snapped the widow Ainsley MacNab. "He be a far better man an' master than any I ken!" She was speaking of Rab, for of late Malcolm had lost some of his vassals trust with his dissipated and irresponsible behavior.

"Witch sympathizers! You'll all burn in Hell. Have Bishop Gillespie examine her for the devil's mark and you will know I speak the truth!"

More mutterings commenced, as the younger contingent was all too eager to stir up antipathy against their new mistress, out of boredom and the tutor's words were infectious.

"Examine her! We'll no' have a witch in our village!"

"If she hae the devil's teats let her burn!"

"Hush, ye idjits!" Tam snarled. "Tis a funeral, show some respect for the dead! Afore the ghost o' the departed comes to remind ye!" He crossed himself, for there was an old superstition that the souls of the dead lingered for three days and thus it was wise to not anger them.

"Maggie wouldna be dead if we dinna hae a witch among us!"

"Maggie died o' a putrid lung sickness, fool! No' witchcraft!" snapped the midwife, Alaina. "She were sick wi' it long before Dr. Rab came back here wi' his lady. Now stop yer idiocy an' show some respect before the laird has ye all put in the stocks fer disturbing the peace, ye silly gawps!"

"Come with me lads...we'll speak to the Bishop ...and that witch will burn!" Stuart yelled.

A few followed, but the rest, frightened by Alaina's warning, settled down. None of them wished to dare Malcolm's uncertain temper and be fined and put in the stocks.

But the embers of unrest had been stirred to life and they slowly smoldered, burning unseen in the hearts of those easily influenced to rebellion and mayhem.


	14. The Witch's Hammer

**14**

 **~ The Witch's Hammer ~**

Inside the cottage the others could hear voices raised in anger. Moira excused herself and went outside to find out what was going on.

"What're ye lot blubbering about now!" she demanded, hands on her hips. "This is a funeral not the pub now calm yerselves down!"

"Miss Moira, it's that loon Hepzibah!" Tam informed her. "Babbling like a loon he was talkin' o' witches an stirring up the younguns, angering the spirits of the dear departed too no doubt. And accusing the good Father of…."

"Of what? Spit it out!"

"Well….ahhh…he accused the Lady Belle of witchery and ye…ye of fornicating wi' Father Bryce!" The old man blushed. Moira glared at all of them.

"If any of ye idjits believe one word of that nonsense ye're as loony as that miserable lout!"

"But the younguns believed, Miss Moira, and they've gone with him to see the bishop!"

"Dinna fash yerselves. The good bishop will never believe a word he says," Moira said breezily yet in the back of her mind she feared for her young mistress and Archie whose credibility with the people in the parish would be in tatters if the bishop believed he was under a witch's influence. "Do any of ye believe the Lady Belle is a witch?" she demanded of the group.

"Nay!" they chorused.

"And in case any o'ye are thinking it, the good Father and I are not doing anything inappropriate, not that it is anyone's business but mine and his!"

She spun on her heel and returned to the cottage. Donal and Sorcha were being comforted by Rab and Belle, Belle was entertaining little Sorcha with stories about Rumple and they'd given the child the doll Rab had been awake most of the night making and even allowed Belle to help him with some of the stitching when he had difficulty keeping his eyes open. Donal was much calmer now, claiming that his Maggie had visited him in his dreams, pleading with him that no one was to blame for her death but she was at peace now and would see him again one day in Heaven.

"Archie, I must speak with ye," Moira whispered in his ear.

"Now? Lass, it isna a good time…"

"Now dinna be stubborn wi' me! I wouldna interrupt ye if it wasna for a good reason!"

Archie excused himself and allowed her to lead him outside to the rear of the cottage. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her. "Lass, ye ken well I dinna like it when ye interfere when I'm tending to my parishioners! Now what is so important?"

"That idjit tutor Rab sent packing is accusing the Lady Belle of witchcraft and me of….of…bedding ye!"

"What?" he cried.

"Aye…babbled on to most of the parish and he and some of the young ones have gone to fetch the bishop! Archie…ye ken well that the bishop will want to examine the lady and…he doesna know about us…does he?"

"Aye but he doesna like it, Moira," Archie confessed sadly. "I canna lie to the bishop about anything, ye ken that."

"We need to tell Rabbie and her ladyship before they come back."

"Aye…that fool Stuart. The bishop does not take accusations of witchcraft in this parish lightly nor will the Church allow him to."

"But it is all lies!"

"Ye ken that and I ken that but remember lass, there are some in this parish who still dinna like the Frasers, ordered by the Queen's command to a truce or nay and the Lady Belle will have to be examined."

"Ye are not going to take part in this….this foolishness, are ye?"

"Nay!"

"Ye know what they may do if ye refuse…"

"The Lord will understand. I willna persecute an innocent."

Moira wrapped her arms around him. "I dinna want ye being persecuted Archie," she said fearfully. "And if that fool Stuart has his way we'll all be burned at the stake."

"Have faith in the Bishop lass. He isna easy swayed."

She only hoped he was right.

In the cottage Donal was seated at the kitchen table sipping a cup of kaffee Rab brought along with him and eating some of Missus Mike's scones with Sorcha on his lap holding the doll. Donal glanced down at the doll and smiled faintly. "She does look a wee bit like my Maggie…ahhh she was a spirited lass and I dinna like angering her but oh how I did sometimes….not always meanin' to ye ken?"

"Aye," Rab murmured.

"And och how I felt her wrath if I dinna wipe my boots after she washed her floors!" He laughed. "I'd been out hunting in the rain and my boots were dirty and there comes my lassie screaming like the banshees at me because my feet made a dirty path on her floor. I was changing and she told me I had to wash the floors myself starkers! And I did it! The things a man will do for his lass, eh?"

"Why did you wash the floor starkers? She hid yer clothes, dinna she lad?" Malcolm asked with a smirk. It was something Ceri would've done.

"Aye."

That was how he, how all of them wanted to remember Maggie. Young and full of life. Everyone in the room all had a story to tell of the girl who touched their lives in one way or another. As he sat with Donal and listened, Rab recalled Archie's words to him after his mother's passing.

 _Tis the celebration of a life we have on such a day, Rabbie. There will be tears yes but ye must always remember the joyful times ye had for those are what will carry ye through the sorrow, lad._

"Lady Belle, do ye have another cat?" Sorcha was asking Belle.

"No, we just have Raine and Rumple but once in a while a stray cat may come to visit."

"Can I come to yer castle and see Raine and Rumple?"

"Of course you can, if your father allows it."

"Ye're both more than welcome at the castle," Rab informed them. Sorcha smiled. She wanted a cat of her own but she didn't want to ask her father yet, fearful that he would be upset with her.

"I'm gonna call my doll Maggie after Mama," she murmured.

"That's good lass, that's good," Donal said, brushing tears from his eyes.

"Donal lad, I'll need to be heading home but if ye need anything Rabbie will see to it," Malcolm assured him.

"Thank ye, my lord."

As soon as Malcolm stepped outside Archie and Moira approached him, both of them worried.

"Now why d'ye have the look of ones who've seen the end of days, dearies?"

"That fool Stuart is accusing the Lady Belle of witchery!" Moira blurted before Archie had a chance to. The laird's eyes narrowed to slits, images of mounting the idiot on his wall flashing through his mind. Oh, how he wished now he'd been there when the fool dared to thrash his boy!

"And where is that wastrel? I'll gie him something more to fear than a witch!"

"Gone to fetch the bishop, lad," Archie sighed. "And ye ken the bishop doesna ignore any claims of witchery."

Malcolm's hands clenched in rage, recalling another witch hunt that had been held in the parish years before. A local midwife had been accused of consorting with the devil by the parish physician when one of her patients died of childbed fever. His Ceri had been outraged, the woman was a dear friend of hers and she'd almost been taken for an examination herself until the bishop concluded the physician's claims were nothing more than professional jealousy. When he was a lad he recalled that five more people had been accused of witchcraft but there had been no burnings in Bishop Gillespie's time. He hoped this would not be the first.

"Aye. And did any of these idjits believe?"

"Nay but he's got the young ones stirred up," Moira replied.

"Ye go on and tend to Donal and his puir lassie Father but send Rabbie and Belle out to me and I'll talk to them about this. Damned Stuart!"

"I'll go wi' Malcolm Archie," Moira informed him. He kissed her cheek affectionately. "I'll see ye at Mass."

"Uncle Malcolm," Ailsa came up to them, her young face grave. "I just heard a disturbing bit o' talk. Some o' the lads an' a few o' their lasses were talkin' about . . .about how Lady Belle was . . .practicing witchcraft on Rabbie's mare Auriel. 'Tis ridiculous!"

"What?" He shook his head.

Ailsa frowned. "T'was a few o' the troublemakers, Uncle Malcolm. Ye ken the ones who are always carousing an' lookin' for a reason t' speak about other people. Gossip mongers. They claim that the Stuart man said Lady Belle was a witch!"

"Papa, ye ken that's no' true!" Neal cried angrily, having heard their speech as he was going by with Winter at his heels. wanting to show Sorcha the collie. "An' that muckle idjit Stuart is just mad 'cause Rabbie threw his arse outta the castle!"

"Aye but we'll fix him, laddie!"

His worst fear was that the bishop would summon Cardinal O'Malley. The cardinal had burned many people over the years for witchcraft and it was suspected he accused his own enemies to dispose of them. He was known as 'the witch's hammer'.

"I just hope he doesna send for that zealot O'Malley," Archie muttered.

"Aye," Malcolm agreed. They barely avoided the cardinal's interference years before.

"Who is O'Malley?" Ailsa inquired.

"The cardinal lass and unlike His Grace the bishop, the cardinal would be more eager to condemn a puir soul to the fires," Archie answered.

"We gotta warn Rabbie and Belle, Papa."

"Aye Neal lad we do but let's wait until he comes out."

Belle and Rab hated to leave the young widower and his daughter but they knew they needed to. They made their excuses and went outside to join the rest of the family while Archie stayed behind. They noticed that some of the villagers were giving them the strangest looks and barely spoke to them but they tried to not to dwell on it. It was a sad day for everyone, especially Donal and Sorcha. Even their own family members were silent during the ride back to the castle. Once they were assembled in the main hall Rab approached his father, frowning.

"Papa, what is going on? Ye've all been silent as the grave."

"Yes best sit down, laddie. This willna be easy to hear."

"What?"

"That idjit Stuart hae accused Belle of witchcraft!" Neal blurted.

"That's insane!" Belle cried. "I am no' a witch."

"Stuart got some of the other lads and lasses to believe it and they've gone to fetch Bishop Gillespie," Malcolm said. "They've even claimed ye've used witchery with Auriel."

"That bastard!" Rab raged.

Belle was frightened. She too heard the stories of what transpired during an examination of a witch and the sorts of things clerics considered evidence of witchcraft including unusual marks on the skin and the mark she had on her lower back would certainly be one of them.

Rab was furious as he'd ever been. He was now sorry he hadn't beaten the snot out of the tutor and driven him from Carlyle lands permanently as a landless exile. "Miserable Lowland scum!" he spat, his eyes amber with the heat of his rage.

"How do we stop him?" Belle asked.

"By using logic and witnesses, dearie," answered Rab. "We must prove he is naught but a jealous carping crow out to stir up trouble. And prove all his "evidence" is naught but lies and fabrication."

"But I have a...a mark...and they'll use that as evidence!"

"A mark?" her husband repeated. For a moment he didn't know what she could be referring to.

"It's been there since birth...just a spot but Mama calls it a birthmark."

"Ah, I ken now what ye are referring to," Rab nodded in understanding, now recalling seeing a small brown mark shaped like a heart close to her left buttock when he had bathed her for her fever back at the Fraser keep.

"But that sod O'Malley would call it the devil's mark," Moira snorted.

"Not if he dinna see it," Rab retorted. His clever brain was already coming up with a preparation that would hide the mark, a bit of cosmetics he had learned while treating patients for unsightly blemishes back when he was a student to Azhir in Edinburgh.

"If he canna find it then we dinna have to worry eh?" Malcolm asked his son, grinning.

"No," Rab agreed. "Though we may not anyhow, since 'tis doubtful the cardinal would come all the way t' the Highlands if the bishop doesna summon him."

"I've heard what they do in those examinations and I canna endure that Rabbie!"

He gently stroked her cheek. "Hush, mo cridhe. Ye willna have to endure any o' that. The cardinal willna examine where he has no proof and no evidence."

That made her feel at ease for the moment but she would be able to rest easier when she was certain the bishop would not examine her.

Rab steepled his fingers on the table. "Neal do ye ken what became o' the note ye gave Stuart? That's an important piece o' evidence to show that he wasna doing his duty an' disregarded my orders as laird."

"Aye it's here somewhere. I dinna see him take it."

"Well, I'll hae tae find it," Rab said. "An' I need ye to provide evidence that Stuart was no' a good tutor. An' I'll speak tae any other lads down in the village who knew Stuart by his wenching and drinking o'er at the tavern."

He looked over at Moira. "Moira, I'll need ye an' Ailsa an' Missus Mike an' Lily as well as Devon an' Titus down at the stables t' be character witnesses to Belle attesting to her Godliness an' good works. Father Bryce as well."

"Archie will be happy to vouch for the lass as will I."

"Papa, ye must speak too since ye are laird here," Rab said. "An' ye hired Stuart as well as agreed to the match with the Frasers."

"Aye and twas a mistake that I did hire that arse."

"Papa, ye could hardly be blamed for following Jamie's recommendation, aye?" Rab said comfortingly.

Malcolm sighed. "Aye yer brother thought Stuart was a good man but he dinna see what we did."

"Jamie felt sorry for the bastard," Rab snorted. "An' seein' as he used tae be a comrade in arms, he asked for ye to hire him. I think Jamie didna fully ken who Stuart really was. He was always generous to a fault, my brother."

Malcolm nodded in agreement.

"But he woulda walloped him for hurting Neal friend or no."

"Aye, I ken that," Rab asserted. "Though mayhap Stuart wouldna been so quick to disregard his orders over mine."

"He's no' gonna bring this family down!" Malcolm said firmly.

Rab was pleased to hear the pride in his papa's voice again. As well as the determination of a leader. This was how he recalled Malcolm when Ceri was alive, and Jamie also. It seemed that this betrayal from Stuart as well as the Father's retreat and sweating of toxins from his Papa's system had recalled the laird back to his best self.

"Tavish! Where are ye mon!" Malcolm bellowed.

A burly man on his fifties stepped forward. "Ye called, milord?"

"Aye. Go into town, scout the taverns and see if that wastrel has gone to the bishop yet."

"D'ye want me to bring his arse here?"

"Aye if ye see him. I'll have a talk wi' him myself."

And he was going to be a sorry fool when the laird was through with him.

Tavish and several other Carlyle men were saddling their horses when they spotted a mob of people coming toward the castle and at the front of the crowd was Hepzibah Stuart carrying a torch. "Bring them out! Bring the witches out!" he shouted.

Tavish turned to one of the young men in their group. "Go and tell his lordship those idjits are here. Move lad!"

Fortunately the others heard the commotion. "Lasses, ye'll be staying in here. Neal...get yer dirk lad and yer bow. Anyone tries to get in here ye shoot, aye?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Rabbie, ye might want to arm yerself too lad," Malcolm advised his son. "I ken it'll take more than talkin' tae get this lot to leave."

Rab went upstairs to get his rapier and his handheld crossbow. He hated fighting, but he would not permit his wife to be taken for a crime she had never committed. He came down wearing his sword and his cuirass of boiled studded leather. His crossbow was in his hand and a bandolier of bolts across his chest. His hair was bound by a braided leather headband.

"Rabbie, be careful out there," Belle pleaded.

He moved over to her and took her in his arms and kissed her. "I shall be, my heart. I dinna plan on dying before I have even lived, sweetheart."

"I'm so sorry...I got you into this..."

"Nay. 'Twas petty and nasty small minded men like Stuart who hae done this, no' ye, Belle. If it wasna ye they targeted, it would hae been someone else. Like me. Why, they hae even targeted the good Father an' Moira!"

"And I would be out there giving his arse a good wallop if I could!" Moira snarled.

Rab smirked. "Keep yer broom handy, Moira, dearie. Ye may need to beat some manners into a fool's head."

"Aye and I can do that well!"

"BRING THE WITCH AND THE WHORE OUT!" Stuart yelled.

"Form up!" Malcolm called out to his clansmen, and he drew his sword, waiting until the house guards had arrayed themselves in formation behind him before he strode to the doors of the keep and yelled, "STUART! YE MANGY SON OF A BITCH! HOW DARE YE FOMENT REBELLION ON MY LAND?"

"Ye're harboring a witch and a whore, Carlyle an' we'll no' have them in this village. Send them out for the bishop and the cardinal to examine or we'll come and take them ourselves!"

"Over my dead body will ye take my wife, ye miserable jealous bastard!" Rab shouted. "Ye coward! If ye hae any balls, Stuart, ye'll meet me in the circle an' we'll settle yer false accusations with a duel! Or are ye too craven? Perhaps ye only hae guts to beat wee boys?"

"Aye!" Malcolm yelled. "An' lest ye forget, YE are no' a member o' this clan, Stuart! I am laird here an' YE are here only upon my goodwill. For which ye hae just exhausted! So if anyone is tae be sent anywhere, 'tis YE into exile!"

Little did they know that Stuart arranged for several boys to sneak into the castle while the rest of the crowd distracted the men outside.

Stuart stood his ground. "Ye'll be laird o'nothing when the bishop and the cardinal find the witch's mark on the Fraser bitch and the MacNamara will burn for her corruption of Father Bryce."

He smirked. "And where were ye when this was going on...in yer cups and ye'll no' be denying it Malcolm Carlyle."

Malcolm laughed. "But I DO deny it, ye scurvy wretch! I was in retreat wi' Father Bryce an' no' a dram o' whiskey hae passed my lips since I hae gone into retreat. Drunk? Fool! I hae been praying for the Lord tae help me repent o' my former ways. But ye, dearie, YE were drunk when ye were supposed tae tutor my son, an' all o' us here in the keep ken it, Stuart!"

"Listen to the lies roll off his tongue. Clearly they are all under the witch's spell!" Stuart announced to the crowd.

"Clearly ye are drunk an' hallucinating!" Rab called back. "Why just last week, ye came to me babbling that ye seen a ghost in yer room . . .an' when I checked do ye ken what I found? I found yer bedhangings flutterin' in the breeze from yer open window! An' ye were like a wee bairn hidin' under the covers!"

Several of Malcolm's men whooped and started laughing mockingly. "Ooo! I am soo scared! Save me, Mummy!"

"He willna meet ye in a duel ,Rabbie. Ye'd have his ballocks on a plate," Tavish sneered.

Even some of the people in the mob were laughing.

"What ballocks, dearie?" Rab sneered. "I think he's got less than Auld Bessie the ewe!"

"Aye...and he'd piss hisself if he had my sword at his throat."

Tavish began baaing, eliciting more hysterics.

Stuart glanced up at one of the windows of the castle, smiling in satisfaction when he saw two of the young boys enter in search of Belle and Moira.

Soon he would have the last laugh.

But he had forgotten that people weren't the only ones inhabiting the castle. It was also home to several hounds, cats, and one very intelligent and alert collie.

Winter had been asleep in Neal's room when the ruckus began, and he awoke just as the boys climbed into the window. In a room down the hall, were two huge deerhounds, the hunting companions of two of Malcolm's house guards. They also sprang up and stalked towards the hallway where the two boys were slipping through the windows.

Winter shoved open the door with his nose and then padded into the hall, his ruff bristling. He growled low in his throat and then barked loudly in challenge, his curved eyeteeth showing.

"Shite!" one of the boys cursed.

The deerhounds appeared behind the collie, two massive gray beasts, named Zeus and Apollo. They too lowered their heads and snarled in warning.

"I'm no' gettin' my arse chewed to bits by those mutts!"

Winter, who could smell fear upon them, bounded forward, intending to chastise the boys with sharp nips to their ankles and backsides, much as he would a misbehaving sheep.

"They don't scare me." The other boy held a club. "Well come on then ye mangy mutts!"

One of the deerhounds leaped gracefully over Winter and grabbed the club in his jaws and bit down. The wood splintered and broke.

"Ye idjit, let's get outta here!"

The two boys ran for the window and as they were about to climb out Winter leaped at them and bit both of their backsides.

"Yeeouuucch!"

Zeus barked thunderously, his teeth closing upon one of the boy's breeches, and ripping a large chunk from them.

"Git off!" he yelled and kicked the dog's snout.

Winter barked in reproof and nipped his ankle hard.

Neal, hearing the hounds' barking followed the sound to the east wing window and burst into laughter when he saw the two boys at their mercy. "Now that's a bit o'sport for ye, eh?"

"Dinna stand there! Help us!" wailed one, clutching his backside.

"Nay since ye came here t'harm one o'mine yer on yer own!"

"But . . .they're gonna eat us!" bawled the other one.

"Nah...ye'd gie them bellyaches quit snivellin an take yer punishment like a man."

"Billy, let's hie ourselves outta here!"

"Finally ye found her brains! Was thinking ye shite them outta yer arse!"

Winter barked angrily and went to nip at them again as they scrambled through the window sill.

Neal waited until the boys were back on the ground then called the dogs to him. "That'll be the last we'll see o'them. Good job lads!" He walked down the hall to Belle's chamber where she and Moira waited anxiously for the other men to return. "T'beasties put the scare to those idjits but Papa's having a bit o' trouble getting Stuart and his ilk to leave."

Belle sighed. "He will not be satisfied until he has us both before the clerics."

Outside Stuart seethed with anger seeing one of his plans foiled but he was not about to give up yet. He craned his head toward the back of the crowd where two more boys stood with lighted torches. He nodded in their direction and they set off for the rear of the castle and the stables.

He would burn the witches himself.

Several more men separate from the crowd carrying more lighted torches.

A short distance from the castle the Carlyle kinsman Neddy was tending to his injured master. "Father, I dinna wanna leave ye!"

"Ye must lad!" Archie insisted. "Any moment now those fools will reach the keep!"

"But..."

"The Lord will look after me now GO!"

Neddy scurried off in the direction of the Carlyle castle. Archie reached into the pocket of his cassock and pulled out the letter to Cardinal O'Malley Stuart had written. Father Bryce was not one who condoned violence but he hadn't been afraid to strike the insane lout a vicious blow with his umbrella when he learned Stuart was enroute to Edinburgh to fetch the cardinal himself when he discovered the bishop was not at home.

Once they had the letter, Neddy stole Stuart's horse and the two of them rode off to the castle to warn the Carlyles the mob was coming but the horse had gotten spooked and thrown them, injuring the elder Father worse than his altar boy.

Neddie rode like he was being pursued by the Furies, praying he could reach his kinsman in time.

At the castle, two men crept into the stables bearing torches. One of them smiled as he approached Auriel's stall. "Aye, there's the devil's beastie. Let's burn 'im first!"

"Careful ye idjit...it may hex ye!" the other cautioned

Suddenly Rumple leaped from the straw bed he had been curled up inside the mare's stall and hissed and puffed up his fur, frightened and agitated by the strangers. His green eyes glowed like marsh fire in his small face.

In the stall, Auriel laid back her ears and neighed angrily, baring her teeth.

"What was that?"

"Nothin...let's just get it done!"

Rumple's tail lashed and he meowed harshly, like a baby crying . . .or an angry spirit.

"I'm tellin ya...they're summoning the devil!"

One of the man's hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold his torch. His companion glared at him. "Stop whinin' like a baby and start burnin' or I'll gie ye somethin' tae whine 'bout!"

Rumple leaped onto the partition, growling like wee fiend, his eyes glowing in the torchlight.

The men screamed when they saw him.

"The witch's familiar!"

They dropped their torches and fled in terror.

The dry straw in the stable soon caught fire and flames began to slowly crawl up the sides of the building.

A frightened Rumple managed to paw loose the latch on Auriel's door, and the terrified mare stampeded through it, with the kitten perched upon her back, running like the hounds of hell were at her heels, out of the burning stable and into the yard.

Other horses still trapped inside began screaming and whinnying and stamping the floor.

One of the stable lads who slept in the loft woke and peered down, and saw the horrible glow from the fire.

"Fire!" he screamed. "Fire!"

He slid down the ladder like a slippery eel and ran to the pump outside with a bucket.

His shouts roused the other grooms, who yawned and then bolted into action when they realized their peril.

"...Fire...Fire!"

Belle jumped off the bed and peered out the window. "Moira...Neal...the stable is on fire!"

"What?" Neal cried.

"Auriel...we have to get her and the rest of the horses out of there!" Belle cried frantically.

"Lass dinna fret...the grooms will be able to put the fire out," Moira assured her.

"If they're not already dead...this is Stuart's doing!"

In the courtyard, Rab heard the frantic yells of the grooms and then the loud claxon that was only rung in case of fire, flood, or invasion.

The Carlyle tanist went pale with rage. "Ye bloody bastard! Ye hae set fire to my stables!"

"Let all witch sympathizers burn!" a woman screamed.

Stuart smirked with satisfaction. "Now see what I can do t'ye Carlyle."

Auriel bolted into the yard, froth flying from her mouth, and she thundered onto the cobblestones, her hooves striking the ground and making sparks fly up from her shoes. She raced towards Rab, snorting, and people threw themselves out of the way.

Stuart was so busy blathering threats he didn't notice the panicked mare until she was upon him.

Her shoulder slammed into him and he measured his length on the cobbles and then her hooves came down on his legs and chest.

The others looked on in horror as the former tutor was trampled and many of them backed away in fear. They dropped their torches, pitchforks and axes and fled into the night as Neddy rode past them. He dismounted from his horse and ran toward them. "Rabbie, Rabbie!" he called out.

Rab grabbed Auriel's halter and whispered soothingly in Gaelic. The mare was startled, but soon calmed at his touch and voice, halting and blowing agitatedly.

Malcolm glared down at the carcass of Hepzibah Stuart. "Get that out of my sight," he said through gritted teeth. They could leave it for the vultures to pick over for all he cared.

Belle limped over to her betrothed and threw her arms around him. "Rabbie, Auriel, thank God!" She glanced toward the stables where the grooms were leading the other horses out of the stalls and bringing the fire under control with a line of buckets.

The mare whuffed into her hair. Then there came a startled mew, and Rumple appeared from around the corner of the bailey, where he had jumped off Auriel as the mare made her mad dash across the yard.

"Rumple! So there you are! I was wondering where you got off to!"

The kitten came and rubbed up against her ankles and Rab's purring sweetly.

She scooped the cat up into her arms and hugged him.

"They come runnin outta there like the Furies an scairt those idjits off!" Tavish chuckled.

"Aye and that Stuart flat as a plank!"

"Tis God's judgment upon him," Neal declared. "For tryin' tae persecute innocents."

Two of the Carlyle men picked up the body and carried it away.

"Rabbie...thank God none o'ye were hurt but ye gotta come wi' me...Father Bryce..." Neddie began.

"What's wrong with Archie!" Moira cried.

"What happened, lad?" Rab asked. "Is the Father hurt?"

"Aye. We was comin' back from seein one o' the Father's parishoners when we saw that lout Stuart goin tae the bishop's house and he and the Father got in a row when Stuart called Lady Moira a whore and Stuart said he was sendin a letter to the cardinal to come here an burn her an the Lady Belle. Stuart started hitting Father Bryce but I jumped on 'im and knocked him off and the Father gave him a good knock with his umbrella. Then we rode for here but something spooked our horse and threw us. He sent me ahead to warn ye Stuart was gonna come here."

"How far, Neddy?"

"Just down the hill a bit."

"I'm going wi' ye!" Moira said firmly.

"Bring a horse for Moira!" Rab called, then he mounted Auriel bareback, having ridden her that way many times.

Neddy ran ahead of them hoping that Father Bryce was right and the Lord was looking after him.

Rab waited till Moira was mounted on a rawboned chestnut before he turned Auriel and the palomino trotted out of the courtyard.

Archie was sitting against the trunk of a tree praying softly when he heard the sound of hoofbeats on the trail and opened his eyes to find Neddy, Rabbie and Moira racing toward him on horseback and foot.

Rab brought Auriel to a neatfooted halt and jumped off, saying, "Father, where are ye hurt?"

"Oh my head aches and my back but..." he gestured to his leg. "I canna walk on it lad...might be broken."

Rab knelt, and felt him over. "Nay, it's no' broken, just sprained."

"Ye were lucky ye werna killed!"

"Moira, lass..."

"Stuart's dead, Father...got trampled!" Neddy said gleefully.

Archie frowned. "Then everyone is safe?" he asked Rab.

"Aye, the idjit didna harm anyone. Though they did set fire to my stables!"

Archie crossed himself. "Mad, the lot o'them." He handed Rab the letter he'd taken from Stuart. "At least this willna reach the eyes of that zealot O'Malley."

Rab took it, scowled, and said, "I'll burn this when I get back to the keep. Here, Father, let me help ye onto Moira's horse. I'll tend to yer leg when we get home. I assume ye'll be goin' back tae the cottage wi'my papa. I dinna want him in the hall wi' the drinkin' that's sure to be going on tonight."

"Aye. He doesna need to backslide now, lad."

"If I had MY way Archibald Bryce I'd be going wi' ye to make sure ye rest!" Moira snapped.

"Rabbie, how we gonna git him back to the castle?" Neddy inquired.

"On Janus," Rab replied, then helped Archie stand.

"I can still ride, lad and the pain's no' so bad...I've had worse thrashings from my da."

Rab scowled. Then he helped Archie mount the patient chestnut, one of his most reliable geldings.

"Thank ye lad."

Rab waited till Moira had mounted and then took Neddy up behind him and the group headed back to the keep.

A/N: Thanks to CJ for her ideas and help with this chapter! Hope you all like!


	15. Enter the Witch

**15**

 **Enter the Witch**

 _Three months later:_

It took several weeks for the herb woman's daughter, Zelena Miller, to arrive at the secluded Highland residence where she had learned from a few of Rab's former university friends who sometimes visited her for cures and once or twice for some romp in the hay that the young doctor lived. It had been many years since she had seen Rab Carlyle, yet she had not forgotten the shy medical and legal student, the first boy she had ever wished to bed. However, she had not reckoned with Rab's principles, nor with the fact that he was too honorable to ever sleep with a lass for mere sport and not marriage. In the years since Rab had left Edinburgh, Zelena had continued her mother's herb business, adding to it some small charms, potions, and spells on the side. She also had invited many a comely lad to her bed, and none had refused her.

Zelena was pretty, with her wild red hair and deep green eyes, her milk white skin, kept so by a special lotion, and she had ample curves where women were supposed to. One of her lovers had referred to her as a handful for any man, and she had quickly learned the pleasures of bedsport, while making certain none got her with child. Clever and witty, she also made certain that she attended Mass every Sunday, paying lip service to the Christ, since in her heart Zelena was not of that faith, but worshipped instead the dark goddess, Hecate, She of the Triple Face, as well as Morrigan, the Celtic goddess of battle and death.

Only those who sought her knew of her dabbling in the black arts of sorcery, spells of binding and enchantment, and rituals at moon dark to harm those who could pay her price. But despite her lovers and her livelihood, Zelena thought often of Rab Carlyle, the one man she had never been able to coax into her arms, and in her mind she had invented a kind of fable, that the young man had loved her but because of his position had not been able to consider her as his lady. In her mind, she built the fantasy into a tale worthy of the best storyspinner. Rab had been betrothed to some noble woman, and so he was not free to love Zelena, but if she could convince him otherwise, he would put aside this lady and take Zelena to his bed—first as his mistress, and later as his wife, if she could manage to rid him of the troublesome lady.

With this goal in mind, she set out for the Highlands, after speaking to one of Rab's university mates, and receiving directions to Carlyle keep. As she journeyed, she spoke to a few pilgrims and travelers, and discovered that the object of her affection, if he could be called so, had recently been wed to a Lady Mirabelle Fraser, by the queen's command.

Zelena gritted her teeth. An irrational hatred of this lady Mirabelle filled her heart, as she imagined this unknown woman sharing Rab's bed, perhaps getting children with him. That place should belong to her! _She_ had loved him first! And she would have been promised to him if not for the fact that he was a laird's son and she but a common miller's daughter. Zelena conveniently ignored the fact that had her father, Jonathon, lived still, and not been killed in an accident at the mill, she may well have been married herself to someone in Edinburgh by now, the match arranged, as was proper, by him. But Jonathon had died when Zelena was but a child, and Cora had never seen fit to arrange a match, instead filling her daughter's head with strange notions. Cora had told Zelena that she could choose her own man, and taught her a few spells to bind a man to her when she found one she wanted.

For some reason, perhaps because he was the son of a clan chieftain, though not one of the major ones, and perhaps because he didn't seem as attracted to her as she felt he ought to be, Zelena had decided the one for her was Raibeart Carlyle. No man she wanted had ever refused her before. This one wouldn't either, she vowed. After all, what did some milksop mealy mouthed pious lady have over her? A title, lands, and money, she snorted. But those things paled in comparison to what Zelena had—a sensual earthiness and the ability to make a man forget his own name in the bedroom. Or so her paramours had claimed. Zelena vowed to make Rab forget he ever had a wife.

But her spells could not reach so far here in Edinburgh, so she decided to travel to where he was and attempt to recall to him the affection he had once held for her. It was her steadfast belief that he had harbored a sweet affection for her and had only suppressed it because he knew he was of a different social class. Once he saw her again, however, she was certain he would recall what they had once been to each other.

Then she would have everything she ever wanted. Rab would love her and give to her anything her heart desired. At last she would be the woman she had always knew she could be—the lady of the manor, and no one would ever say her nay or look down on her again once Rab made her his wife. Which he would do, not just because of the spell she intended to bind him with—but because he loved her and only her. It never occurred to her to think that he might love his new wife, the wife that he had been commanded to marry. Or that her interference could bring about disaster for both the Carlyles and the Frasers. Zelena, despite her pretentions, did not care to understand the workings of the nobility and indeed cared only for one thing—her own desires.

And she desired Rab Carlyle greatly.

 _Carlyle Keep:_

Belle was excited for today was the day that her cast would finally be removed and she could begin to walk again on her mended ankle. She was bit nervous, wondering how much muscle tone she had lost while her ankle had been healing, but her husband assured her that she could regain it with special exercises he had devised for her, and soon she would not need the aid of a crutch.

She woke earlier than was her usual wont, though not quite early enough to catch her husband, who tended to wake almost with the birds, and was already in his infirmary, tending to the few patients he had from the night before.

There were some castlefolk down with bad coughs and raspy throats, though Rab didn't think it was all that serious, still he had quarantined those who were showing symptoms to avoid an outbreak of whatever malady this was, and was currently giving them cherry bark cordial and tea with honey and lemon with some goldenseal.

After the events that culminated in the death of Hepzibah Stuart, there had been no more outbursts from the tenants against any of the Carlyles or Belle. Due to Rab and Archie's staunch defense of her, many of the people who had been previously stirred up against her changed their tune after seeing how Belle worked tirelessly to run the keep and to help out the crofters and families. Much of her duties were making sure each family had enough to eat and were well supplied with wool, wood, and other necessities. Belle also tended to their livestock when required, despite her infirmity, and it soon became a common sight for the keep's lady to be seen examining a nanny goat whose udder had become infected or a pony or mule's strained tendon, or helping a dog with a sore paw or a bird with an injured wing.

Though some still muttered about her oddness, they were slowly accepting her as one of them, and found her as engaging and concerned about them as the Lady Ceri had been before her. They also thought she was good for their sometimes too serious tanist, and made him smile more than usual of late.

Besides her duties with the crofters, Belle had set aside certain days to teach Neal, and together with Rab, managed to give the lad a very thorough education in Latin, history, classic literature, composition, botany and biology. Though the last two were mostly Rab's venue, and he did most of the instructing, leaving the arts to his wife, whose avowed bookish pursuits made her an ideal tutor in those subjects.

Both were pleased with the boy's efforts, and Neal seemed happier with them than he ever had with Master Stuart.

She rose from her bed, and using her crutches adroitly maneuvered over to her washbasin and began to wash her face and hands, trying to wake herself up.

Soon after that came a tap at the door and Moira's voice calling, "'Tis just me, milady."

The door was pushed open and her friend and handmaid entered, carrying a tray with breakfast on it which she set on the small table. She was accompanied by Lily, who had dishes of milk and shredded chicken for the cats, who darted from under the bedhangings to meow about her feet pitifully.

The girl chuckled, saying, "Wheest, now, ye wee beasties! Dinna fash yerself, it's comin'!"

Lily set the cats' dishes down beside the hearth, and Raine and Rumple ran to them, eating their portions like starveling waifs.

"Thank you, Lily," Belle said, hobbling hastily to the table and propping her foot upon the stool Moira had placed there for it. "Has the Carlyle broken his fast yet?"

"Och, nay," Moira replied. "Rabbie allus has naught but some strong tea in the early morn before he sees patients. 'Tis only after that he eats, the stubborn man!"

Lily bobbed a curtsey and said, "Begging yer pardon, milay, but the Carlyle told me to tell ye he'd be up shortly to break his fast wi' ye."

Belle smiled as she took the cover off the tray. "That's good, Lily." She poured herself some tea and fixed it while Moira went to lay out her clothes and Lily made the bed and swept the hearth.

As Belle sipped her tea, she wriggled the toes on her injured foot, and thought what a relief it would be to get this cast off at last. This week alone the itching had driven her insane! But Rab had told her to be patient, that the itching was a good sign, it meant she was healing well. Belle had told him rather tartly she would have preferred if her body let her know this some other way, and was there nothing he could do for it?

Regrettably, Rab admitted there was nothing he could do until the cast came off, then he would wash the foot and put salve on it. Until then he distracted her by reciting poetry and telling her silly stories, playing chess and draughts, and playfully tickling her when she guessed his riddles wrong.

Belle thought that never had she been so happy to be wrong about a person in her whole life. Far from the "beast" she had first thought her husband, one of the rough and rowdy Carlyles, who had been clan enemies of the Frasers over a jilted bride generations before, Rab Carlyle had the hands of a healer, the soul of a poet, the sharp wits of a lawyer, and the stubbornness of all his kin. He was no crude barbarian, but a learned man who had been to far off Edinburgh to study law and medicine, knew Latin and Greek and some Arabic, could ride a horse like a Saracen, and argue the breeches off you like the best barrister from London. He could sometimes show a black temper, but only when someone he loved was threatened, and he was loyal to friend and family alike.

She had at first been fearful and apprehensive about him, but after he healed her of her fever and set her ankle and brought her to his home, treating her with compassion and like an equal, despite the fact she was a woman, she found she had grown at last to love the gentle unprepossessing man she was handfasted to. Or at least she thought she did. Because she had never been in love before, and she hoped that the shy fluttering of her heart and the rapid flush on her cheeks and rush of desire meant she was in love with her physician husband.

She also hoped that he was growing to love her also, and not unhappy with the bride Queen Mary had chosen for him. Belle had tried her best to be both a helpmeet and a confidante, running the keep as her mother had instructed her, striving to prove herself one of the Carlyles now, despite the long enmity between her family and his.

She wriggled her foot again, thinking once this wretched cast was off, she could resume all her duties soon, and truly become mistress of Carlyle keep.

Rab's soft tread upon the stairs and appearance in the doorway brought forth a smile of such radiance from Belle one would have thought the sun had come out of the sky. "Hello, dearie!" he greeted, smiling his shy earstwhile grin. "Are ye that glad to see me or glad to be havin' the cast off that much?"

"Both!" she declared, joy shining from her indigo eyes.

"Ah, then let us eat an' we'll go down to the infirmary, for I dinna want to keep ye waiting, _mo cridhe,_ " he said tenderly, then he entered the room and sat down beside her to eat, chuckling when wayward Rumple pounced on his feet.

Removing the cast took the work of a few moments with a sharp pair of shears and a small hammer, then Rab carefully unwounded the bandage around her ankle and gently felt it. "Does this hurt?" he asked as he pressed certain spots.

"No. It's a bit tender but it doesna hurt," she replied honestly.

"Good. How about the itching?"

"Umm . . ." she flexed her foot. "It still does." She reached down to scratch it and he caught her hand.

"Nay, dinna do that. I'm going to wash it with some soap and water and put salve on it. The skin's dry, ye ken, from being wrapped all those weeks." Rab explained.

Then he fetched a basin and cloths and set about doing as he had said.

Once he had washed, dried, and applied a soothing salve of marigold, lavender, and tansy to her foot, he put a sock and then her other shoe on it. "There! How's that feel?"

"Much better, Rabbie!" Belle sighed in relief that the horrid itching was gone.

He took her hands. "Good, good. Now, shall we try to stand, dearie?"

Slowly, he helped her to her feet.

And for the first time in twelve weeks, Belle put weight upon her ankle again.

"How's that feel?" Rab asked, his mouth inches from her ear.

"It feels . . . all right," she murmured. "But a little strange."

"Yes, well, remember, ye've been favoring the foot so . . . shall we try a step? Easy now," he cautioned, as Belle tried to walk and stumbled.

Luckily Rab caught her in his arms.

As his strong sinewy arms closed about her, Belle felt a shock like lightning run through her, like a fire in her blood that did not burn. Their eyes met, and she saw, to her astonishment, the passion he felt for her, it echoed her own, and without conscious thought or action she lifted her lips and met his.

She kissed him long and deeply, as a woman who thirsts for water, she drank in the taste of him, slightly sweet with honey from the herbal tea he habitually drank, his kiss setting her alight like an oil soaked torch, igniting a flame she knew could only be put out one way.

Rab had not been expecting the kiss, he had intended to steady her and then continue to help her walk, but it would seem his headstrong wife had other ideas . . .ones he didn't mind indulging in at all.

Drawing back slightly, he returned her kiss, his mouth hot upon hers, his own body on fire with need, and only his iron self control prevented him from hauling her into one of the alcove beds and making her his wife in all ways.

"Hey, ye gonna come up for air, Rab, or can ye now breathe like a fish?" Neal queried impudently from the doorway. "I thought ye were supposed to take the cast off this morn, not play knights and damsels wi' her!"

Belle wanted to sink into the floor, disappear, or pass out from shame. Although she wasn't quite sure what she had to be ashamed about, since it was perfectly normal for a wife to kiss her husband.

Rab inhaled the wrong way and began coughing.

Neal snickered, his eyes dancing wickedly.

"Ye wretched imp o' Satan," Rab mock-growled. He turned to glare at his smirking mischievous brother. "What are ye doing spying on me, Neal?"

"Spying!" his brother cried. "I wasna spying . . .I happened to be passin' by an' wanted to see how Belle was faring . . . and I found out didn't I?"

Rab shook his head. "Ye are naught but a scapegrace, Neal Carlyle!" he scolded softly. "An' only the Lord kens what will become o' ye."

"Aye, but at least I dinna kiss ladies in broad daylight where anyone can see!" Neal smirked, delighting in catching his straitlaced brother doing something slightly scandalous for once.

"She is my wife, dearie!" Rab objected. "And ye are not my conscience, laddie." He wagged a finger at him. "Now ye mind yer own business, before I set yer curiosity straight by giving you work to do. I hae a few bedpans ye can wash . . ." he began, trying not to burst out laughing at Neal's horrified expression.

"Rabbie!" Belle cried. "Ye wouldna!"

"Aye, I will, unless Master Impudence promises he willna go blabbing all over like a fishwife at market day."

Neal gulped. "I dinna see anything!"

"Good. Now bring me Belle's crutch there. She may need it at first," he instructed.

"Aye, milaird," Neal muttered hastily.

"Rabbie, ye've scairt him," his wife frowned.

Rab snorted. "Ha! Neal isna scairt o' me, lass. He kens I'm more bark than bite."

"Oh?" she tilted her head up, her cerulean eyes sparkling. "So yer all smoke an' no fire?"

"Only wi' those I love," he murmured. "But guard yer tongue, Belle, for I wouldna hae my people think I've gone soft, aye?"

She smiled at him. "I like ye that way, my bonny braw man."

Rab flushed in pleasure, then went to kiss her again, but recalling Neal's presence, halted before his lips grazed hers.

Until Neal called. "Och, go on an' kiss her, Rabbie. I'll turn my back so I'll not see ye commiting a crime o' passion!"

"A crime o' _passion!?"_ his brother sputtered.

Belle started laughing. "Neal, ye are a caution!"

"Humph! He could drive me to drink!" Rab snorted, then because he could no longer resist temptation, he kissed Belle again.

"My lord! My lady!" Moira cried "Cannae ye no' wait until yer're somewhere private?"

Rab nearly threw up his hands, but recalled he needed to keep hold of his wife until she was steadier on her feet. "God grant me patience!" he growled. Then he lifted his head, his cheeks stained a faint dusky color, and said, "Dinna ye all have better things to attend tae than gawking at me an' my lady? "

"Maybe we wouldna gawk if ye dinna gi' us something to see!" Neal crowed.

"Quiet, scamp!" Rab ordered. "Or else I hae a bucket waiting for ye."

"Well, I may be going walking with Father Bryce," Moira said sassily. "If he hurries his old arse over here!"

Neal chuckled. "If he's so auld, Moira, then what do ye see in his arse?"

"Neal!" Rab snapped.

"That is none o' yer business, Neal Carlyle!" Moira cried and blushed.

Neal hooted. "Saints but ye act like . . .he's yer beau!" He nearly collapsed with laughter. "An' he's older than Papa!"

"That doesna mean he isna still a handsome man, Neal Carlyle," Moira said sharply.

"Excuse me," Rab said, and gently set Belle in the chair. Then he went and grabbed his brother and hissed, "Scamp, ye hush about that, ye ken? Behave or shall I get out the quill?" he threatened.

"No!" Neal yelped. "I dinna want tae do translations o' Caesar's commentaries!"

"Then do I hae yer word?" Rab demanded sternly.

"Aye, sir! Please, Rab! I'd rather ye skelped me," his brother begged, for he detested Latin.

"Deal. But if ye break yer deal wi' me, lad, ye'll be doing yer translations wi' a sore backside, ye ken?" he warned.

"Aye, sir," his brother muttered.

Rab ruffled his hair. "Good. Mind yer tongue, an' all will be well."

"Moira? Where are ye lass?' they heard Archie call out.

"Here comes the auld arse now!" Neal giggled, then yelped when Rab swatted him. "Oww!"

"Did I just hear ye call me an auld arse, Neal Carlyle? Would ye like to spend a few days polishing my pews?" Archie asked with a frown when he approached.

"No, Father. Sorry." Neal said contritely.

He kissed Moira affectionately. "Sorry I'm a bit late lass. I was having a talk with the Bishop."

She sighed. "And he's been telling ye ye cannae be seen with me too much, aye?"

"Otherwise ye might compromise his virtue," Neal remarked with a sly grin.

"Neal!" Rab groaned, and hit himself in the forehead.

"Had ye not taken yer holy orders ye know I would!"

"Moira, lass!"

Neal looked from one couple to the other. "Ye all are daft wi' the way ye kiss each other! 'Tis like a disease!"

"Ye just wait lad. Someday ye'll find a lass who will make ye change yer mind." Archie grinned. "Nay lass...the Bishop was telling me something else..."

"Well what is it?"

He took her hand and led her aside, whispering in her ear. Moira glanced back at Rab and Belle worriedly.

"But I thought..."

"Hush lass!"

"But dinna ye think ye should...warn them?"

Rab looked at Belle. "Would ye like to continue walking again, dearie?"

"Aye," she said, and pushed herself to her feet. This time she waited until she felt steady before taking a tentative step.

Rab smiled. "Come on, dinna be afraid. I'll catch ye if ye fall."

"All the bishop said is that he heard she was about not that she'd come here," Archie was saying.

"That doesna mean she won't! Now ye'll be telling them or I will!" Moira hissed angrily.

Oblivious to the conversation taking place a few feet away, Belle took a few more steps, finding she could walk, albeit slowly and carefully, the few feet to her husband. As her hands clasped his wrists, she said, "Rab, I did it! But why do I feel so tired?"

"Because ye are not used to using yer foot," he replied. "But that's a good start. We'll do more each day." He handed her one crutch.

"Soon ye'll be dancing a reel, Belle," Neal said encouragingly.

Belle smiled. "I look forward to that," she admitted, and her glance at her husband left no doubt of her sincerity.

"Now that's what we like to see," Archie said with a smile, his arm around Moira. "I'll have her back before dinner, Rabbie."

"I ken that," Rab nodded.

"Then...ahh...there's some things I need to talk to ye about, lad."

"After ye return then," Rab agreed. "How is Papa?"

"He's doing well lad, hasna touched a drop. The kaffee is helping along with our prayers and keeping busy. He's been making some improvements to the cottage."

"That's good, Father. Papa was always a decent builder before he turned tae the bottle," Rab acknowledged.

"He's even talking about building me more pews for the church. The more souls we can draw in, the merrier."

"Mayhap he'll want to help make some improvements around the keep too. He built our cradles himself, dinna he tell ye?"

"Nay lad, I remembered. And that scamp Jamie was always trying to get out of his."

"That doesna surprise me, Father," Rab laughed.

"Perhaps he can build a cat tree for Raine and Rumple?" Belle suggested. "So they stop climbing up the bedposts and sleeping on the canopy."

"That would be good. Those beasties need to stay out of yer bed," Moira spoke up.

Belle started giggling. "Well . . . it may no' keep them out as much as ye think, Moira. A cat goes where she will, aye?" Her eyes glittered with mischief. "But it may keep them from tearing up the bedhangings when they climb atop the canopy, so that's something."

Moira rolled her eyes, though she forbore to comment on the silliness of her lord and lady allowing animals to sleep with them in their bed, as if they were bairns. Still, there were worse vices, and she tugged Archie by the arm down the hall, saying, "Come on, 'tis burnin' daylight we are."

Rab watched them fondly, before turning to the mistress of the keep and saying, "Shall we go to the hall, my lady, and show our people that ye are well again?"

"Aye, let's," Belle agreed, then with Rab on one side and Neal on the other, processed into the hall so the people could see their mistress was nearly back to her former self.

When one of the retainers caught sight of their lady without the cumbersome cast, he set up a round of applause and cheering that could be heard throughout the keep. The others joined in, and Belle found herself suffused with joy, and thinking this was a very different reception than the one she had upon arriving here, those many months ago.

She was no longer that Fraser bride, but had become the Lady of Carlyle in truth.

"Oh, I'm so happy tae see ye're walking, Belle!" Ailsa squealed, sounding very much her age, which was seventeen. "We ought tae celebrate and hae a picnic."

"Well, I suppose we can speak tae Mrs. Mike," Belle allowed.

"I'll go, while ye speak wi' the household," Rab's cousin offered happily.

"That's good, dearie. Ye do that and I'll go and check on my patients," Rab said in approval.

"I'll get my fishing pole," Neal stated. He whistled for Winter, who was lying by the hearth with the two wolfhounds.

The collie leaped up like a shot and came to frisk beside his master. He followed the boy up the stairs, plumed tail waving jauntily.

Zelena looked around the small cottage, which was all one room, save for a small loft where she could store her herbs. There was a small garden out back where she could grow what she needed in the way of food, cooking herbs, and herbs to ply her trade as the wise woman. The cottage was on the far edge of the small village of Carlyle, and had been abandoned since the previous tenant had died of a fever three seasons past.

The roof was thatch, the walls simple whitewash, the whole place was dusty and musty with disuse, but she could set it right with a mop and a bucket, and a broom and dustpan. She had some stores of her dried herbs for now and could buy more cuttings or take what she needed from the wild herbs which grew here.

She hoped that the villagers would start to come to her for herbs and simples, as people had her mother in Edinburgh, but her true motivation for settling here was not to start a thriving business but to catch herself a laird's son. She had picked up from gossip that Rab was now the heir to the Carlyle family and its holdings, since his elder brother had perished in a border dispute some years ago. His recent marriage was one of necessity, but Zelena knew necessity was a poor excuse for love everlasting.

Not that she believed Rab loved his wife—the daughter of an enemy clansman. No, this was not even a true marriage, sanctioned by the church, merely a handfasting. And betrothals could be broken. A smile curled her mouth as she imagined meeting Rab again after all this time. She was a mature woman now, and he a man, but she knew that he had never forgotten her. Her portents didn't lie. He thought of her still. And soon she would ply all of her arts to turning his head once more—and then making it stay fixed upon her. She would make certain his Fraser wife was ruined in his eyes, and then she would take the place of that bleeding heart milksop. Her rightful place—as Rab's wife, Lady Carlyle, first in his heart.

Her daydreams filled her head with poisonous fancies as she cleaned and swept the cottage, making the dust fly. Finally when all was in order, she went out to sweep the porch, and beheld a party of two men and two women laughing and smiling as they made their way down the road to the burn. One, a lad, carried a willow pole over his shoulder, a white collie trotting beside him. The girl beside him was a fresh-faced lass of seventeen, pretty and laughing at a joke the slightly older woman was saying.

The chestnut haired beauty had on a lovely green dress, though her beauty was spoiled by her lameness, as she used a crutch to walk. Zelena was about to turn away when she caught sight of the man escorting them, carrying a picnic hamper, his light brown hair tossed about by the wind.

She froze, words of greeting on her lips that died before they ever were born.

 _Rab._ It was Rab walking there, with his leather breeches and tailored red shirt, his eyes dancing merrily. He turned and said something to the pert girl, who giggled in return.

Zelena felt longing spiral through her, followed by a jealousy so acute it burned.

 _Mine! He is mine! And someday everyone will know that. I saw him first and no mealy mouth noble chit will stand in my way! I will have what I deserve, what I wish, one way . . . or another! Rab Carlyle will be my husband—or no one's!_

Eyes glowing with obsessive jealousy, Zelena turned and began sweeping the porch with a vengeance, her thoughts now consumed with her need for the attorney physician who walked right past her door, not even noticing she existed. But that would change, she vowed.


End file.
